#then shell hide her wings as well

[missdarhk]

the theme is: there is no heterosexual explanation for what they have going on

honorable mentions:

[starry-bi-sky]

don't you want to be a cult leader? - danyal al ghul au

this is mostly a joke post but i thought it was funny and had to share so--

his first mistake was, obviously, inheriting his father's inability to see an injustice and stand still. -- actually, danyal's first mistake was his lair being so big. a mountainous island with a large temple in the center resembling his old home in Nanda Parbat? With sprawling foliage and rivers and streams and waterfalls galore? What was he going to do with all that space? Let it go to waste? He had plants there! Native trees of the ghost zone growing from the soil! He couldn't let it all be left unchecked!

So naturally after helping a fellow teenage assassin ghost -- who he later learns is named Akihiko, -- from Walker of all people, he sent them over to hang low at his lair until it was safe enough for them to wander around the Zone. Walker couldn't get through Danyal's astrofield if his life depended on it, and trust him -- he's tried. Danny was clearing out debris from his stupid transport vans for weeks.

Honestly it wasn't so bad, he and Aki really quickly became fast friends and Danny loves having a sparring partner close to his level again -- he hasn't had this much fun fighting since he left the League. Aki was very dedicated and levelheaded, the both of them clicked really well because of it.

Nonono, the real trouble began after Danyal met some long-passed League members and allowed them to come join his island as well. Apparently they had made a few enemies of the zone, and maybe Danyal still felt some loyalty to the League. He couldn't just let them be left to rot. Their zealotry could be overlooked so long as they kept it contained and helped him take care of his island.

And it.. snowballs from there? He meets a teen squire aptly calling himself Ambroise -- whether that was his living name or not is yet to be seen -- who died during feudal france, who is just about as dramatic and passionate as every french stereotype makes them out to be. He calls Danyal "my moon and great muse" -- which is both flattering and little uncomfortable, but Danyal's grown up in the League as the Grandson of the Demon Head, he is used to mild worship. he passes it off as nothing more, nothing less. -- and while his energy is overwhelming on the worst of days, he helps Danny draw out of his shell more in ways that Sam and Tucker still struggle with.

Him and Aki butt heads a lot, but the two seem to hold the other in at least some positive regard, so Danny doesn't worry too much about them fighting while he's gone. It only becomes a mild issue when Aki also begins calling Danny "my moon". It's a little sweet, so Danyal brushes it off.

Then he takes in a troupe of ghosts some time after he defeats Pariah Dark and they begin calling him "great one" just as the yetis do in the far frozen. This is where he meets the twins -- a pair of sibling ghosts who call themselves Trixie and Missy (short for Trick and Mislead) -- who aren't quite as passionate as Ambroise but more energetic than Aki. Eventually they also start calling Danyal "my moon" and attach themselves to his hip, even within the living. They like to hide in his shadow and cause trouble for the rest of the students. He makes sure they don't hurt anyone.

He's pretty sure Aki is jealous, same with Ambroise, but he can't be too certain other than the fact that they become much more lingering (re: clingy) whenever he visits the island.. Something he's trying to do much more often these days due to the increasing amount of people living there now. Since when did he become so popular?

Then there's Pēnelópeia from the Greater Athens, who ran away from home and joined his Island after he ran into her while she was being chased by Skulker -- and he's pretty sure the reason was because of her chimeric appearance. Her strange eyes and mismatched wings and lion's tail and talons. She assimilates into his friend group very easily, she gets along well with Ambroise and Trixie and Danny usually finds the three of them climbing the trees to pluck the most fruit from the top. They can fly and he knows it, but they prefer to climb.

Then finally there's silent poet Akkara who comes from ancient mesopotamia, who gets along most with Aki -- which is no surprise there considering their similar personality dispositions. he watches Aki and Danyal fight each other and leaves comments on this or that that he notices. He writes Danyal poems on clay tablets and leaves them by his room.

They're one big mismatched group of outcasts, and Danny's got the other ghosts on his island to tend to, because they're living on his island and he wants to be hospitable even if he struggles with that. But he spends the most of his time with them.

Sam and Tucker are making fun of him. Tucker jokingly tells him 'careful Danny, at this rate you're gonna start a cult'. Danny really wishes he had taken that joke more seriously.

He just. keeps. collecting people. Wayward souls lost in the zone, looking for shelter or refuge from something or other -- whether that be another hostile ghost, or a past afterlife, or just a purpose. Danyal finds them, he takes them in, offers them a place on his island until they are ready to leave. Many seldom do. He's not complaining -- he has the space, and it feels like it's only ever growing.

His close friends, his "inner circle" as he's heard the others call them, keep insistently calling him "my moon". He starts calling them his stars, because then it only feels fair. They're his stars, this is his constellation. It becomes a thing; little star halos begin forming behind their heads, picking them out from the rest. He loves them so much, it's hard to place. Sam and Tucker are also his stars, but they reside in the living realm, they're his tie to Life. Meanwhile, his friends here know what it's like to be dead, and sometimes its nice to relate.

Those living on his island keep calling him "Great One" and he's beginning to notice zealotry in their care for his island. He really, deeply appreciates it. His close friends gain nicknames -- as his stars, it's only natural for him to pick them out from the cluster in the skies. Akihiko, his Sirius and bright star. Trix and Missy, Castor and Pollux, the twins and troublemakers. Ambroise, his zealous Antares and close friend. Penelopeia, chimeric and loyal Vega. And Akkara, his Arcturus and strength.

It's ridiculous how long it takes for him to notice; he is, of course, a deadly trained assassin. He is meant to be observant -- and normally he is! But somehow this becomes a blind spot. One that becomes too big to be dealt with by the time he realizes it.

He should've noticed when Aki, his Sirius, stood beside him one day while Danyal looked over his island and saw the sprawling spirits carrying on about their afterlife and bowing to him as they saw him, and said: "I looked down into the depths when I met you; I couldn't measure it." They aren't one for flowing prose, it took him so off guard he was silent for over a minute before he finally spoke.

Danyal should've recognized devotion for what it is, and yet he didn't. He should've recognized it when Antares began spouting praises about him, crowing about his radiance and resplendence to the heavens. He just brushed it off as Ambroise being Ambroise. He should've recognized it when Trix and Missy nearly broke Dash's leg after he knocked Danyal's books out of his hands, he excused it as them being protective. Of them coming from times where such violence may have been customary -- after all, that's what he used to be like. What he was still like, sometimes, when his emotions nearly got the better of him.

He should've noticed it when the people living on his island followed his word like gospel, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. When his friends gifted him a shawl with the moon phases delicately embroidered into it, with silver, shimmering thread and moving stars lovingly stitched into it. Their constellations seen clear as day in the dark fabric. When he found small shrines dedicated to him -- but they lacked any image of him beyond stones carved to look like moons, so he ignored it. When the religious imagery began popping up.

He really, really should've noticed it when a bunch of cultists accidentally summoned Antares, and Antares had turned to him when he arrived and called them heretics. But he was so centered on the fact that they had kidnapped one of his stars, that he hadn't paid much attention to what Ambroise had said.

Sages say that faith is blind, they should also say faith in you is even blinder.

It really only hits him one afternoon while he's sitting in Sam's room studying with Tucker, Missy and Trixie lounging at his feet, Aki sat on his right, Penelopeia braiding his hair, Ambroise draped against him, and Akkara lurking over him. Its one of the rare few times they're all in one room together.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. He looks up from his textbook. "Oh Ancients," he says in no amounting shock. Everyone looks up to him.

"I've become my grandfather."

[dolicekiss]

Bittersweet Belladona

PAIRING: Dark!Will Graham x Yandere!Reader x Dark!Hanninal Lecter

CONTENT WARNING: SMUT (18+ only, mdni) very dark Will Graham. age gap (reader is twenty two) mention of mental instability, unhinged behavior by all parties, dubcon, stalking, slight blood, choking, hair pulling, manhandling (reader gets her shit clapped) degradation and praise, mention of cannibalism, scratching, slight fluff at the end.

SYNOPSIS: Following along the bloody trail left behind renowned Psychiatrist Dr. Lecter and his kin, Will Graham, your sick obsession had made you somewhat better than the FBI at tracking down the two. In the shadows, you lingered and stalked them both like a new born shadow, oblivious to the fact that you were also captured in their sight. Your twisted infatuation with the two had you cornered soon enough, trapped in an empty museum with them.

You were lured in.

You should've known.

Just why would they commit a crime in the open museum if not to lure you in and trap you?

The two men circled you around like you were their prey, like the man they had killed and formed into a firefly with its wings spread out, hanging in the air. Wings that were made out of the man's skin — red flesh exposed. The sight was spectacular and you wanted nothing more than to click photos of it, capture it in the deepest darkest parts of your mind and savor it forever.

You stared at it in pure awe, not registering the fact that you were trapped.

“Beautiful, isn't it?”

It was Will’s deep voice.

Strained and dry, it made you feel something dark inside your chest. You flinched at his voice, retreating a step back but all you felt against your back was Hannibal’s hard chest, as you crashed into him. His tall figure towered over you and you moved forward, in an attempt to get away from him.

“Beautiful like her.” Hannibal spoke, voice cutting the silence like butter. “But too bad she lacks manners, don't you think?”

All you wanted to do was stalk them, learn more about how their minds worked and get to know them. You had never found their acts of violence disgusting, no. It was simply human, their flaws and the gruesome darkness concealed behind their beautiful faces. It was all too fascinating for you but you knew all too well what the two men were capable of.

The proof was levitating right up in the air.

“Following us around, stalking us. Even going as far as to hacking our phones to eavesdrop on our conversations, how fucking impolite and ill mannered.” It was Will, as he snapped at you. Your face set ablaze underneath his searing gaze, feeling terrified as he stared at you.

A look of disgust in his eyes.

“She might as well be the next Freddie Lounds.” You wanted to hide away from the way Will was glaring at you. Glasses long gone, curly strands slicked back as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Your lips trembled. “I—”

Your throat was parched, running dry in an instant as you attempted to speak and come up with some sort of excuse to your bad behavior. You felt like a child trapped between two adults, anticipating a very bad scolding, maybe even a beating too.

“You're scared, hm?” Hannibal reached for your face, squeezing it between his hand. Your lips forming a forced pout. You were trembling in his hold, as resilient as you were.

You'd decided to follow them, in a way, finding solace in them. The cannibalistic murderers of Baltimore, murder husbands, the FBI profiler who eloped with his cannibalistic psychiatrist. Everytime you saw them on the news, you felt a connection form between you and them and tug you towards them. It was profound, what you felt for them and how the people to whom you were an unknown person comforted you.

Without their own acknowledgement.

You didn't want to die.

As much as you had nothing to live for, other than the delusions that you were meant to join the two— you were an empty shell. An unstable mind wandering the world with nowhere to go. You attempted to make a run for it as soon as you felt Hannibal’s grip loosen. Bolting for the large door, your hand nearly grasped onto the golden knob and pulled at the door but Will was quick to run after you, grabbing your hand and pushing you up against the wall next to the door.

His palm laid straight on your cheek, forcing the side of your head along the wall. Holding you firmly in place all while you struggled and became a sobbing, sputtering mess. Pain blossomed in the side of your head, throbbing and roaring through your skull. Like it could grow two large heads more. The rough manhandling caused tears to pool in your waterline, threatening to drop.

You felt horrible, didn't know what was so wrong about wanting to get to know them on a deeper level as they provided you with comfort. Feeling a bit dumbfounded and stupid.

“Please—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Will nearly growled in your ear, a shiver of terror dancing up your spine.

You watched, in your blurred peripheral vision, a figure moving in next to you. It was obviously Hannibal and you stared at him with a plea clear in your eyes.

“She looks so afraid.” He commented, moving his gaze from your face to Will’s. The man still locking you in place. “She's pretty too.”

“I hate to agree.” Will sternly said, with a hint of frustration in his voice.

You struggled and squirmed, all futile and not enough to help you get your freedom. Will’s hand tangled in your hair, fingers grabbing a bunch of your hair and fisting them. He dragged you from the door and tossed you right across the vast space on the floor, watching as your body collided with the hard marble.

You didn't waste a single second in scurrying away from them both. Now you were the prey and they were the predator, stalking upto you like you were their food. Which, you were pretty sure you were going to become. You didn't mind but you couldn't die with a heart aching to be understood, to be seen.

“She deserves a punishment, no?” Hannibal said to will, voice laced with mischief.

You shook your head. “Sorry—so sorry.”

Your tears and apologies were falling upon deaf ears. Will reveled in the feeling of seeing you this helpless, at this mercy and he knew he could crush you beneath his shoe like a dying little bird. Hannibal was more interested in Will and your dynamic, how you craved to be in his presence yet were terrified of him.

He found it endearing, even.

“Oh no, apologies won't cut it, pretty girl.” He said, in a hoarse voice. “I'm gonna make sure you never ever do something so silly like this ever again.”

Fear had consumed your whole being. Fingers trembling and breath hitching. Heart beat pattering like wild raindrops against a glass window. You could feel it thumping in your ears, as nausea took over you. The urge to throw up all over the floor fought to dominate you but you didn't allow it.

“What were you thinking?” Hannibal asked, squatting down next to where you were on the floor, back pressed into an old viking artifact. “Following dangerous men like us around. Just what did you believe you would achieve from it, if not your demise?”

You gulped, staring between the two men.

Glancing at Will and cowering under Hannibal’s gaze.

You didn't dare speak a word. The letters of the word ‘comfort’ burning the tip of your tongue but you didn't say it. The fear that wafted off you was almost arousing for Hannibal Lecter. His strong ability to smell emotions and feelings helping him smell your fear and anxiety.

“Answer him.” Will ordered, reaching forward and squatting down next to Hannibal in front of you. His hand extended out and collected the hair straight from your roots, tugging onto them. It hurt, the burning sensation spreading along your scalp as your neck was craned up.

You stared at him, a lone tear sliding down.

“J-Just wanted to see, w-wanted to see how you both do it.” Broken words uttered by your broken self.

Hanninal and Will looked at each other, seemingly communicating through their minds as their eyes spoke. Hannibal nodded and Will’s attention shifted back to you, this time staring at you with a different type of void behind those blue eyes of his. His grip tightened and you whimpered, fueling your tears.

Then he leaned down and in a rough kiss, captured your lips. Teeth clashing against your skin, tugging and biting on it. Your little fists tried to push him away from you, banging on the expanse of his chest. He didn't budge at all. Will had newfound determination to break you, to break you in order to put your pieces back together.

In a way he'd liked.

Hannibal knew as manipulative as he was, Will Graham was a cunning boy.

You felt him sink his teeth into your lower lip, piercing the skin enough to evoke blood. A trail dripping down, accumulating at the round of your chin. Vision blurry and eyes squeezed tightly, you cried and cried while struggling. It only worsened your situation as you felt someone behind you— taking a hold of your small fists and restraining them behind your back.

Hannibal held you in place tightly, giving full access to Will to have his way with you.

Your lungs expanded, in desperate attempts to suck in air but all you felt was Will’s tongue slipping past the entrance of your mouth. Colliding with yours, like snake, wrapping around it and in a way, the man was fucking your mouth.

Plunging his tongue in an out of your mouth.

Saliva, blood, tears. All of these liquids proved your demise, though not forever. You knew after Will or both the men are done with you, you'd be different. You'd be dead and you'll be reborn.

“Will, do you intend to end her life with a kiss?” Hannibal called out and the man finally, finally retrieved his tongue and broke apart from you.

Terrified to open your eyes, you let them stay shut. You could feel the hot breath of Will mingling with your own, chest moving vertically up and down. Lungs dragging in as much oxygen as the organs could, unaware of when they'll be allowed to breathe ever again.

“Open your eyes.” Hannibal’s hands caressed your wrists as he whispered in your ear.

You didn't listen and that was a grave mistake. That somehow managed to piss Will off more than you invading their privacy. Your disobedience towards Hannibal and as he walloped his hand across your cheek, a ringing sound entered your ears.

It was loud, everything becoming a blur to you.

Just how hard had he hit you?

Your eyes were opened and you blinked profusely, now finally capturing the man in front of you. You noticed the swell of his lips, as well as the blood that was smeared all over it. His slicked back hair now messed up in a few strands dancing over his forehead. You didn't stop your cries this much, soft little sobs echoing in the spacious museum.

“Will,” Hannibal warned. “She's fragile, you shouldn't be this aggressive.”

“She's strong and she knows it. A fragile little girl wouldn't stalk two men all the way from the US to Italy, would she now, princess?” You shook your head.

The obedience you had shown by responding immediately was satisfying for both of them. The slap had worked, and Hannibal took a hold of your chin, moving your face towards him. His scrutinizing gaze hovered over your busted lip. “It's bleeding, poor you. Will is really cruel, isn't he?”

The sheer rudeness and strictness Will Graham expressed and showcased was in complete contrast to Hannibal’s sweet, gentle demeanor. Its like one was meant to leave bruises while the other bandaged those same wounds.

“Please.” You pleaded, completely unaware of what you were actually pleading for. You knew that even if they were to let you go, you would still continue to stalk the men. You couldn't survive separation and it wasn't like you wanted to live with the two or be roommates, no.

You were more than okay with striving in the shadows, only admiring them from afar.

How did they catch you?

Were you that obvious? That obsessed and infatuated that you hadn't realized these men could outsmart you?

Will stared at you, the scared look on your face stirring something primal within his chest. You looked so beautiful, so broken and he saw himself in you. He saw who he was before meeting Hannibal and this — what he was about to do to you — could be your breakthrough.

They could be your pillars.

Hannibal was in absolute awe of the beauty you possessed and were. Just the raw vulnerability you exposed and how dedicated you were to stalking them, it was all endearing to him. To him it felt like you harbored romantic feelings for him, for them both. Like a puppy following its owners.

“Tie her up.” Will said to Hannibal and he nodded — immediately getting to work. Despite the amount of tears you shed, the struggling and the pleadings, it didn't bother them one bit. Hannibal had found a rope, magically and it made you realize all the more of how deep you had fallen into the well.

They came prepared.

Oh they had thought everything out.

They were looking forward to this.

“No, n-no, please. Listen to me.”

Didn't matter. You were nothing but a lifeless little doll, a plaything to keep them entertained. Hannibal tied you up, hands behind your back. Each knot tightened to the point of purple bruising, his hands skilfully moving across your body. It wasn't just your hands he tied, he'd restrained your arms too and the pain begun in your shoulders.

Both of them looked at you, sitting on the floor, tied up. Your dress had riled up to your thighs in the endeavor and it exposed your soft flesh, which seemed to be an invitation for the two men. Hannibal could only think how you'd taste, drenched in honey and garlic, sizzled on a barbeque. The flesh roasted and sprinkled with diced coriander.

Meanwhile Will could feel his cock becoming hard at how fucking hopeless you seemed. Just sitting on the floor, soft little sniffles falling from your lips. Even a few hiccups here and there too. A red handprint on your cheek a clear indication of your disobedience. It was a sight he wouldn't mind if he were to witness it for the rest of his life with Hannibal.

Will leaned down to you, sitting next to you as his hand reached for the exposed flesh of your thighs. When his soothing fingertips touched your skin, you flinched. That act of yours and how unwilling you still were made him tighten his grip on your thighs, nails leaving crescent moons all over the skin.

“You could've chosen a different path. A different life, different interests than the ones you have right now.” There was almost a heavy sadness to his words. Like he missed the person who he was, somewhere deep inside his mind. “Yet you got yourself into such a mess. Trapped with two men. Do you have any idea what we'll do to you, pretty girl?”

You shook your head.

“If you knew coming here would have you end up like this, would you still go through with it?” He stared at you, in anticipation, searching for the answer in your blurry gaze but he didn't need to.

As you nodded your head. Proving the unstable state of your mind. Despite knowing things would end this way, you'd come to this place over and over again. They had noticed you, they'd seen you, felt you. How could it get any better? Yes, you were hurt but did it really matter? It was worth seeing the two perform their art in all its glory.

Hannibal stared at Will and the man scoffed — shaking his head. “You're such a braindead little thing, aren't you?”

You lifted your eyes up from the floor you were on, confused. The confusion gave you the look of a lost puppy, who had no idea just what was even happening to it. Puzzled and all over the place, terrified and lost.

“She's a peculiar one.” Hannibal commented, one hand slipped inside his pocket. “Should we take her?”

“We'll decide that when she's proven to be worthy of it.” His hand inched closer and closer, riding further up your thigh and between them. Your breath hitched, body shivering as you felt his fingers brush against your clothed cunt.

You were already soaked, as confused as you were about it. They had humiliated you, disrespected you, hurt you yet your panties were saturated. Upon feeling the slick coating your inner thighs, Will let out a dark chuckle and showed his fingers to Hannibal.

The slick glistening against the bright lights.

“She's not some innocent little girl. Her cunt is drenched, Hannibal. All because of how we treated her, like some whore.”

You squeezed your thighs together, not wanting Will to pry more but he did. Both hands at both knees, he parted your thighs open fully and exposed you to the lascivious gaze of himself and Hannibal. The wet spot on your beige panties the perfect innuendo that you were aroused, like some fucking animal and it grossed you out.

Why were you feeling this way?

Will’s hand lowered to your cunt, his thumb flat against your covered clit. He moved it in slow, circular motions, watching you in exciting anticipation. Your body twitched, hips immediately beginning to writhe and he scoffed. Your reactions were fucking adorable, both the men in complete awe.

You still wanted out — as good as this felt.

You struggled, squirming your hips and trying to stray further from him but Will grabbed your leg, putting his own over it to refrain you from moving. You whimpered at his heavy weight on your leg, as he continued his ministrations on your cunt. He then finally peeled the panties off you, sliding them down yout ankles and tossing them to the aside.

“Fuck, such a pretty pussy.” He whispered, Hannibal also joining him on the floor.

Both of them stared at your cunt like it was a meal they both had craved for a very, very long time. A fresh set of tears fell as Will parted your pussy open with his thumbs, pink flesh coated with creamy arousal.

Hannibal shifted behind you, pulling you between his own legs. Both his hands caressed your sides, slowly riding upto your breasts. Fingers kneading into the plush of your tits and dragging your dress down, watching the fat mounds bounce out. His own cock hardened at the sight.

Hannibal loved the female body, how beautiful and different it was than a man's. Innocence seeped into it, like a fresh drop from the sun and a tear of the moon.

You looked up at him and shook your head, squirming. “Stop —no. Not right, not right.”

At your resistance, Will delivered a sharp smack across the stripe of your cunt. Watching as the pink deepened. He slid a finger inside you and you whimpered, gaze fixated on Hannibal. The men simultaneously toyed with your body, having their way with it and you could only sit there helplessly and sob.

“She's tight, even around my finger. I wonder how she'll take both of our cocks.” Will’s comment made Hannibal’s concealed cock throb. A low rumble escaping his chest, vibrating against your back. “Don't tempt me, Will.” Hannibal warned, his fingers pinching and tugging at your hardened peaks.

Will soon inserted another finger, staring up at you. He found you disrespectful and downright rude. Somewhere you reminded him of a certain redhead, with how you lurked everywhere in the shadows wherever they were. But he knew you were nothing like Freddie Lounds. You did not possess the same greed she did, the same lust for fame and content.

Instead he saw darkness. The type of darkness that matched his own — a reflection of his own self. He plunged his fingers in and out of you, curving them and gaining access to that sensitive spot. As he hit it, your gummy walls tightened around his digits, greedy cunt sucking them in.

Meanwhile Hannibal forced you to look at him, one hand still toying with your perky tits. He stared down at you, finding you endearing. How you cried, every movement of your little body. The tears pooling in your waterline, the way your lips shivered and produced small sobs, how the fear flashed in your gaze once in awhile. You were so broken and so damaged, he wanted to fix you right up.

By breaking you apart.

“You should've expected this to happen. Stalking dangerous men like us, while being so frail and fragile yourself. Just what did you expect to happen, hm?” His grip tightened on your wrist, as he stared at you.

You had no words. There was nothing on your mind, other than the realization that you were trapped and had nowhere to go. There was no one coming to your salvation and the thought terrified you more than anything. The complexities of your own emotions and thoughts warring together only left you further braindead.

Hannibal captured your lips. At first the kiss was sweet, gentle even but soon you realized it was only to swallow your little sounds. Every time Will bruised your sensitive spot, Hannibal swallowed a gulp of your whimper. These two were like wolves, consuming and sucking the blood out of their prey.

He continued kissing you, prying your mouth open and mingling his tongue with yours. The fact that you still had Will’s saliva in your mouth, also dribbling down your chin and Hannibal kissed the same mouth. It was all too taboo to not turn you on. Your hips shuffling a little only for Will to press his own leg harder down on yours.

Will stared at you both, watching with a burning gaze as Hannibal practically sucked the soul out of you. He scoffed a little, remembering Hannibal’s words from earlier at how he almost ended you with a kiss. The man was doing the same now, just with a much gentle tone.

He didn't even allow you to inhale or breathe, lips locked against yours in a tight firm kiss. You struggled, attempting to move here and there but it didn't work at all. He continued devouring you like you were his last meal. He kissed differently than Will. He kissed with the intention to eat you, with the intention to savor you for the rest of his life.

It was too passionate for you to ignore. Tears sliding down your face. “You can't eat her now, Hannibal. Don't end up biting her tongue off.”

Will’s words made Hannibal stall for a moment, registering what the man had said. He was right, Hannibal couldn't actually eat you now and from how sweet you tasted, he wanted to bite your fucking tongue off and decorate it with your white teeth.

He backed out, after relishing in the taste you had to offer. Hannibal almost flinched at how fucked out you appeared, from a mere kiss. Your vision had blurred, your mind hazy and your cheeks red. You stared at him, partially lost and numb and then more tears slid across your face.

“Let's take her over to the table.” Will passed an order and Hannibal complied, picking you up within seconds. Your legs resting on his waist, as he carried you to the table.

It was somewhere in the back, concealed in a dark corner. Hannibal laid you down against it on your stomach, and you kicked. Your little kicks delivering to his leg but it didn't affect him at all. Your act of disobedience was like drops of fuel against a fire and it angered both of them. Hannibal’s fingers circled around your ankles, holding them in place.

Will walked over to the two of you, and his fingers drowned in your locks. Grabbing a fistful of it, he craned your neck up and made you look at him. “You fucking brat.” Will slapped you across the side of your face, watching you with a burning stare.

Incinerating pain grew on your right cheek as you slowly regained your senses back and registered the slap. Blood trickled down your chin, the source being your busted lip. The trail cold and dark. “S-Sorry.”

“Oh you'll be fucking sorry when we're done with you, whore.” Will turned to Hannibal. “You take her cunt, I take her mouth. She'll know just how easy we were being on her.”

“Don't end up damaging her.” Hannibal responded, grip tightening on your ankles. “I have taken a liking to her, she'll be good entertainment.”

“Fine.” Will replied with a groan.

Then you caught his attention, again. How unlucky you were. You watched as he unzippes his pants and your eyes widened in horror, hearing another zip being pulled down right after Will’s. You shook your head but it caused Will’s grip to tighten.

As he pulled out his cock, you heard shuffling behind you as well. Will tapped his fat tip against your cheek, then slowly running it along your sealed lips. “Are you going to open up or do I have to force you?”

You contemplated. You really contemplated and the slap made you more pliant, as you parted open your lips. On the other hand, Hannibal had pushed your legs apart, his own cock in his hand. He slowly guided it inside you and when you felt his thick head enter you, a high pitched moan echoed within the walls of the museum.

Will pulled your hair. “Stick your fucking tongue out.”

And you obliged. Ashamed and embarrassed, you stuck your tongue out and Will slapped his fat cock flat against it a few times before driving it inside the wetness of your mouth. Feeling them both enter you at the same time, one inside your cunt and the other dominating your mouth. You cried out in pain.

Hannibal looked down at how your pussy hugged his cock, barely halfway through and a low growl rumbled from his chest upon seeing the ring of blood around his cock.

You were a virgin.

“She's a virgin Will.” Hannibal called out, pushing himself deeper inside you. To a point where no one else has been. “Poor girl probably wanted something sweet, something gentle for her first time.”

Will practically melted at the fact that you were a virgin. Completely untouched. He wondered how could that be possible with the way you appeared and how your body was carved by the gods them selves? But he didn't care. It was perfect. You were perfect.

Made for them.

Crafted for them by the same god they both resented.

Will’s gaze dropped down at you, watching you as your lips squeezed around his cock and sucked him in. “Ever sucked a cock before, princess?”

The term which was usually used for endearment sounded so ironic when it came from Will. Like he was mocking you, using it to taunt you. He didn't mean it when he called you that. He was only using it to make you feel horrible, calling you a princess while treating you worse than a peasant.

You shook your head. You were foreign to the idea of such explicit activities before this very night but now, you were stuffed two cocks. One in your mouth and one in your cunt.

You felt Hannibal’s cock grow thicker inside you at the information, its veins throbbing against your gummy walls. A muffled cry of despair left you as Will continued sliding his cock further into your mouth. “If I feel one tooth, I will punch them right out of your mouth. Got it?”

You inhaled through your nose, nodding.

“Good.” Will released your hair as both his hands settled against your face. He held your face, the head of his cock pushing past your palate and uvula as a loud groan mixed in with your muffled whimpers. He snapped his hips, not caring that you were choking all over his cock.

Saliva trailing down your chin, making a mess around your mouth. You moved your shoulders, all the while Hannibal held you tightly against the table by your hips and fucked you like some wild beast. Both men used their full strength, snapping their cock inside you and it left you light headed.

“She's squeezing me in so much, almost as if she likes this.” You heard Hannibal grunt, his cock slamming against your cervix. From how hard his fingernails dug into your flesh, you knew your skin was bloodied by now.

Hannibal’s gentle demeanor was out the fucking window, replaced with the monster he truly was.

As Will’s cock slid along the surface of your tongue, his hips bucked and he fully bottomed out in your mouth. You could feel his head at the back of your throat and gagged all over it, tears splattering out of your eyes. It was all a mess. You couldn't even breathe anymore and let out little screams — which were muffled and only worked as vibrations against Will’s throbbing length, nearing him to his orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck. I bet her little cunt is as tight as her mouth. It's like I'm fucking a pussy.” Will whimpered, slurring out soft little pants.

Hannibal groaned in respond. “Show me her face, Will. Right now.”

Will nodded, pulling out of your mouth only for a few seconds as he flipped you on your back and pushed your head up, holding it for Hannibal to witness the mess he'd created out of you. A mirror with broken shards, showing Hannibal a reflection of himself.

He almost came at the sight of you.

Looking so fucked up. Hair a mess. Lips bruised, bloody and swollen. Tears and saliva running down in rivulets. You were a fucking sight for sore eyes and Hannibal wanted this every single day. He needed to witness this every single day.

And he never needed anything.

“So beautiful. So fucking—” He snapped inside you, his pace becoming rough and animal like thrusts founding their way against your bruised spot. “beautiful but such an impolite little girl.”

He spat as the sound of skin against skin echoed in the room. Bouncing off the walls of the museum, reaching the carved out ancient ceiling. The cupids listening to each and every noise made in sin.

Will dropped your head down, your neck bending slightly as he shoved his cock back inside your mouth. This new position gave him all the power to fuck your mouth thoroughly, watching as the imprint of his cock inside your throat formed against your skin. Bulging and moving along the skin.

It turned him on like nothing else.

He glared at you, eyebrows furrowed in pure pleasure, lips parted to allow heavy pants escape it. Will Graham looked fucking breathtaking when the sweat trickled down his forehead. You were wondering if this was that bad, if them taking you against your will was anything bad.

But it was the pleasure getting to your head.

Of course this was morally wrong and fucked up.

But who had morals in this room?

One was a cannibal, the other was an accomplice and murderer and you were an unhinged stalker.

“Fuck you looking at huh?” He asked you, abruptly slapping your chest. Your back arched and you let out a whimpered cry, almost tempted to use your teeth.

But you were well aware what that act would cost you.

Will gasped out, feeling his orgasm nearing while Hannibal looked at Will. He could only admire the view before him and as he fucked your cunt, his own orgasm came knocking at his door. Both of them imitated each other's pace, fucking you like wild animals during mating season.

They came soon and the intimacy of them cumming together was so intense. Hannibal’s load shot out, coating your gummy walls and filling you up to the brim. Will’s thrusted, and as you subconsciously tightened your mouth around him, the man also released into your mouth.

His moans had evolved into whimpers and gasps, breathing ragged as he emptied himself inside you. Balls throbbing and hips bucking. It was fucking intense, for both Hannibal and Will. His fingernails dug into the wood for support, fucking your mouth leisurely to ride out his orgasm. Hannibal had left marks on your thighs and hips from how roughly he'd gripped them, as well as blood trails from his nails.

Coated in your own blood, your once untouched and unclaimed skin was now drenched in sin — purity long snatched by the hands of the devil himself. In your case, both Hannibal and Will relresented the Devil. Falling angels they were.

As Will pulled out from your mouth, he caught a glimpse of all his load sitting there in your mouth. It's taste salty and texture thick. Something you'd never ever experienced in your mouth.

“Swallow it.” He ordered and you shut your mouth, swallowing it all. It felt gross and weird against your throat but you didn't complain, only a look of grimace crossed your face.

You still hadn't cum.

Your body twitching and aching. Your cunt screaming for its own release, knots building up in your stomach and thighs convulsing. You were close too but Hannibal stopping made you let out a whimper of frustration.

“Look at her, Hannibal. Twitching and whimpering for a release, huh.” Will scoffed, lips shuddering as he inhaled long chains of oxygen.

Hannibal pried open your hole with his thumbs, watching as his cum oozed out of you and pooled on the table. Your gaping hole sputtered, more cum leaking out and Hannibal licked his lips at the sight. “Although she has not been an obedient girl, I think she deserves her release too for taking us so well. Don't you, Darling?”

You nodded.

You needed this feeling of intense desire and wanton to disappear. This frustration that bit at your stomach, nipped away little pieces of flesh.

Will walked over to Hannibal as the man took you into his arms, sliding his cock back inside you. This time Will sat on top of the table, his half soft cock fully hardening at the evil idea that cooked in his mind. He held your ass, opening it with both his hands and slowly pressing his tip against your rim.

Your eyes widened. “N—No.”

“Still resisting us? Knowing we've claimed you, all of you? How naive.” Hannibal commented, face only a few inches apart from yours. He slid his cock inside your cunt as Will lowered you onto his. The two men were gonna tear you apart, you knew that.

Their girth and length were both something you couldn't handle, not at once at least. But Will didn't care — and Hannibal shared that. Feeling the burning stretch in your ass, you shrieked as Will entered you. A tear slid down your face, disappearing into your parted lips as Hannibal held you for Will.

“It hurts— hurts please.” You cried, like a broken doll and Hannibal pressed a kiss against the corner of your lips. “It'll feel better soon. You shouldn't feel pain. You're only a set of holes for our pleasure, aren't you?”

You didn't answer, too lost in the searing pain in your bottom. Will wasn't even half way through, you could feel it and yet it felt like you were being ripped apart. Hannibal’s cock stayed inside you, not movinf at all. Allowing Will to first adjust himself inside you.

“Answer me.” Hannibal held you with one hand, as he lightly smack you with the other.

You nodded. “Yeah, only a set of holes for your pleasure.”

Hearing you accept it like this, so vocally and out loud. Will lost it and slammed you down onto his cock, bottoming out. Pain bloomed in your ass and you screamed but before it could reach the ears of people somewhere outside the museum, Hannibal captured your lips in a rough kiss.

He licked at your tongue, teeth against teeth while fucking into you slowly. Will sat there as Hannibal moved you up and down on his cock and the burning sensation only grew with each thrust. “Stupid fucking whore. Just what was going through your head, this young and dedicating your life to stalking men twice your fucking age. It's like you wanted this to happen to you, yeah? Two cocks in you at once.”

Will’s filthy words was like alcohol, and blitzed you were. Guilt consumed you and somewhere their manipulation was seeming to work on you in this vulnerable moment. You should've know better. This was bound to happen. Just what were you expecting? That they would invite you into their lives with an open, warm embrace?

You were so fucking stupid.

Hannibal parted from you, his forehead pressed against you as he settled you down against Will’s thighs. You sniffled, feeling his cock all the way inside your ass as Hannibal used your cunt. You felt nothing more than some whore that was here for their pleasure, their sake.

Your stomach flipped and churned, a disclaimer that your release was near. Your thighs shook terribly and when Will pushed upward, you surged forward and leaned against Hannibal’s chest. You tightened around them both, toes curling and eyes squeezing shut.

“Oh she's close. I can feel her. She's gonna snap my fucking dick in half.” Will grunted, as you twitched. Then it came. That strong, bone chilling feeling of pleasure, consuming your whole being. Eyes witnessing white and lips agape, high pitched moans slurring out and tainting the purity of the museum.

You felt the potent need of release take over you ans you gushed out, squirting all over the men. Your body going limp and losing all its strength, falling over to Hannibal. All you saw was darkness, as your eyes stayed closed and your chest moved up and down. Frame suffering from convulsions.

For a moment you thought they'd stop but what a mistake it was.

“She's made quite the mess, Will.” Hannibal commented, his button up soaked in your release.

Will released a hoarse chuckle, his chest rumbling. The man started fucking into your ass, watching as it revived you back but this time you had no resistance left in you. One orgasm had sent you over the edge, overestimated and sensitive. You whined into Hannibal’s chest, tears staining his shirt as Will continued fucking into you.

Hannibal was also in pursuit of Will, his cock carrying its assault on your cunt. Encouraging broken whines out of you. The two were also stimulated enough and after fucking you for awhile, they too came.

Feeling Will’s load in your ass was a weird feeling. It was uncomfortable but what made it even more uncomfortable was Hannibal’s cum leaking out of your cunt, as he fucked it back into you.

You fell against Will’s chest, head resting on his shoulder. Face drained and numb, no energy left in you whatsoever. You were so fucked out and numb — no expression on your face as you stared at Hannibal.

“She's fucked.” Will said, with a laugh as he stared at the worried expression on Hannibal’s face.

He tapped his fingers over your cheek. “Hey, can you hear me?”

You didn't respond. Completely broken and tired. You craved solace in that moment, absurdly from the two men who were the sole cause of all this. How fucked up could this situation get?

“Hey.” His taps on your cheek grew harder but you didn't respond. Will sat up straight, arm wrapped around your waist as he held you against him. “Fuck, I think we damaged her.”

“We?” Hannibal raised a brow.

Will narrowed his eyes at him. “Don't pretend as if you weren't manipulating her into thinking this was all her fault, all the while fucking her.”

Hannibal looked at you, also tapping at your face but to no avail. You were completely speechless and devoid of any human emotion. Like some fucking statue.

“All the fucking left her braindead huh.” Will whispered and then he leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss against you cheek. He shook your body lightly and there you were.

Staring at him, with your innocent eyes and his heart clenched. You still had remnants of who you were, just like all of them but he knew this would change you.

“There you are.” Hannibal said, a wave of relief washing over him. You stared between the two men and finally gathered the courage to reply to their question.

“Comfort.” Both their gazes narrowed in on you when you spoke, voice strained and almost gone from all the moaning you did. “You a-asked me what I believed I would ac—” You coughed out before continuing, “achieve from this. Comfort.”

Will’s jaw tightened.

Hannibal found you even more endearing than before. How foolish yet adorable of you to think being with them could bring you comfort. He caressed away the drop of nearly dried blood from your chin, watching it taint your skin further.

“Let's go, we're going home.” The blonde said — as Will nodded his head. He liked the idea of taking a broken person like you home, especially when you had chased them only as a means to seek comfort. He didn't know whether to think of it as something sad or something sweet.

But both of them had plenty of time to decide that, as they were taking you home.

[sweet-pea-channie]

In the silence, I found you

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: Azriel saves a mute fae woman left for dead after an ambush. Haunted by her silence, he finds himself drawn to her, not out of pity, but recognition. She reminds him of something he lost… and something he never thought he'd find again.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse & torture (non-graphic but emotionally heavy), trauma responses including selective mutism, violence, aftermath of assault, PTSD, survivor's guilt, anxiety, grief and loss of family, slow emotional healing and intimate recovery scenes, soft angst + comfort

Word count: 12.6k

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for reading 💛 English is my third language, so if you spot any grammar mistakes or odd phrasing, please be kind! I’m doing my best. Feedback is always welcome, especially if it's helpful and respectful. This fic is really close to my heart. It’s about healing, trust, and connection without words and I hope it speaks to you, even if it's quiet.

masterlist

Smoke still clung to the charred ruins of the village, curling through the early dusk air like ghostly fingers refusing to let go. The ground was slick with soot and blood, a patchwork of scorched cobblestones and scorched earth. The scent, acrid, raw, was more than just fire. It was despair, clinging to the bones of the place like a second skin.

Azriel stood beside Rhysand and Cassian at what had once been the village square, soldiers and warriors surrounding them. Now it was just rubble. A well had collapsed inward, blackened beams jutted from the earth like broken ribs, and half-burned furniture lay strewn about, a child’s wooden toy horse among them, snapped in half. It was quiet now, but not peaceful. Too quiet. The kind of silence that hummed with what had been done.

“They came through at night,” Rhysand informed everyone, his voice low and tightly leashed. “Wards were weak, barely held together. Half the villagers were Fae with lesser magic. Some couldn’t even defend themselves. The males who led the attack… they didn’t just want to kill.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed. His wings twitched, as if he couldn’t decide whether to fold them in or unfurl them in rage. “They weren’t just soldiers. They were predators.”

Azriel didn’t speak. His shadows slithered around his boots, darting in agitated wisps toward the edges of the square, as if still seeking out threats or witnesses. They found neither.

“The ones we caught,” Rhys continued, staring at the wreckage like it personally offended him, “are in chains. The rest… fled before we arrived. The survivors, the ones hiding, have been found. Healers are seeing to the injured. Children have been taken in by the temple elders from the northern hillside.”

Azriel’s shadows whispered again. A soft, mournful hum.

“It’s done,” Rhys said, scanning the hollowed shells of cottages and shattered windows. “Everything that can be done, has been. It’s over.”

But it didn’t feel over. Not to Azriel. Not with the metallic tang of blood still staining the air. Not with the look on that elderly female’s face when she had asked them, in a broken voice, “Why didn’t anyone come sooner?”

He hadn’t had an answer.

Rhysand glanced between Azriel and Cassian after the soldiers left, noting their silence. His own eyes, usually glowing with a spark of slyness, were dull. Exhausted. “You can rest now,” he said. “Or go home.”

Azriel looked past him, to the tree line beyond the village where the smoke thinned into mist. He caught a glimpse of a child sitting on a stone step, clutching a burned blanket, eyes hollow. The child didn’t cry. Just stared.

Rhys would return to Velaris. To Feyre. To warm arms and gentle laughter. To peace. But Azriel and Cassian… they had always found peace harder to carry. Harder to believe in.

“I’ll fly back in the morning,” Cassian said, rolling out his shoulders. “Want to make sure the families here have shelter. Food. Some of them don’t even have shoes.” He paused. “It still feels… raw.”

Azriel gave a quiet nod. “I'll stay here, too.”

Rhys hesitated, as if he wanted to protest, to pull rank. But then he just studied their faces and sighed.

“Fine. But rest, both of you. You're of no good use if you overstrain yourself,” he said softly. Then he was gone, winnowing in a shimmer of darkness and violet starlight.

The world felt heavier once he left.

Cassian turned toward a row of broken homes and muttered, “I’ll check the supply wagons again, make sure nothing’s gone missing.”

The village quieted further without him. Just the sound of crackling embers and murmuring healers in the distance. Cassian broke off to check the perimeter, but Azriel lingered by the outskirts, near the forest line.

The temporary camp had been set up just beyond the village outskirts, a collection of tents pitched beneath the shadow of the pines, where the smoke from the ruins thinned into something cleaner, but not quite peaceful. The sky had bled into twilight, bruised and streaked with orange. The smell of fire still lingered on the wind.

Azriel stepped into the tent he shared with Cassian, a canvas shelter thrown together more for function than comfort. His leathers creaked as he unbuckled his chest plate, his siphons clicking faintly as he set them down beside the low cot.

Cassian wasn’t there yet, probably still helping rebuild the central well, or lifting logs like they were made of kindling. Azriel rolled his shoulders and sat down heavily, stretching out his long legs and leaning back against the support pole. For a moment, he let the silence settle around him. He closed his eyes. Exhaled.

Then a shadow darted into the tent like a dagger. Fast. Sharp. Urgent.

Azriel’s eyes snapped open.

He didn’t need words. His shadows never spoke in them, not truly, but their intent thrummed through him like a pulse. There’s another. A survivor. Still out there. Still in pain.

He was already moving.

Armor forgotten, he strapped his siphons back on with swift, practiced movements and swept out of the tent without a word. No time to tell Cassian. No time to alert the others. His shadows were already leading the way, slithering ahead of him like smoke toward the trees.

The forest was dark, dense. Pines loomed like sentinels, and the path was barely a path at all, just loose soil and patches of moss tangled with roots. Azriel moved like a ghost, silent and fast, eyes trained ahead, shadows feeding him flashes of what they’d sensed.

Fae. Alive. Hurt. Alone.

He ran deeper, branches clawing at his shoulders and wings, the shadows growing sharper in their urgency. The quiet of the woods wasn’t peaceful, it was stifling. Suffocating. No animals moved. No birds cried.

Something clenched in his chest.

Then, a scent.

Blood. Faint, old. Human-like, but Fae.

His shadows curled tight around a cluster of trees, and Azriel slowed. Stepped carefully now. Each footfall deliberate. His siphons glowed faintly, casting a subtle blue hue against the undergrowth.

And then he saw her.

She was barely a shape in the gloom, slumped against the base of a thick pine, her body partially hidden by brush and shadow. A small Fae woman. Her wrists were bound cruelly above her head, tied to the tree with frayed rope that had cut deep into her skin. Her dress was torn, legs smeared with mud, face streaked with dried blood. One of her ankles looked swollen.

Her eyes were closed. Chest rising shallowly. Not asleep, not unconscious, just… still. Too still.

Azriel’s heart lurched. For a split second, he feared she was already gone.

He was beside her in a blink.

“Hey,” he said softly, dropping to one knee, his siphons dimming as he reached out. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing. Not even a flinch.

He hovered a hand near her cheek, not touching, not yet. “You’re safe now. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Slowly, slowly… her lashes fluttered.

She didn’t open her eyes, but her body tensed. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came.

Azriel felt it then, not just the physical damage, but the weight of something deeper. A silence that had settled into her bones. Not shock. Not in this moment. This silence was old. Familiar.

He reached for the ropes carefully, cutting through them with a dagger he pulled from his belt. The bindings snapped with a dry crack, and her arms slumped forward, too weak to catch herself. Azriel caught her gently, cradling her body with one arm as he sliced the rope from her wrists.

She didn’t try to pull away. But she didn’t relax either.

“You’re okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

She blinked again, just once, then lifted her hand weakly, her fingers twitching in the air.

Signing.

Clumsy. Slow. As if she hadn’t done it in years.

Azriel’s breath caught. He understood.

“Don’t hurt me.”

He remembered the signs from centuries ago. His throat worked around the knot forming there. He shook his head, voice a whisper. “Never.”

Another flicker of fingers.

“I couldn’t scream.”

She wasn’t just mute from pain. It was something older. Deeper. She hadn’t screamed because she couldn’t.

Azriel gently gathered her into his arms. She was light, too light. Starved and cold. Her fingers clutched weakly at the collar of his leathers as he stood.

“I’m taking you back,” he said, already moving through the trees. “You need to see a healer."

And though she didn’t speak, he felt it, a shiver in her body. Not of fear, but something near it. Not trust, not yet. But recognition. A thread, fraying and fragile, tying her to this moment.

To him.

His shadows twined around them both as he carried her toward the broken village, a silent promise echoing in the night: Never again. Never left behind.

Azriel moved quickly through the woods, his steps fast but careful as he cradled the small Fae female against his chest. Her weight was next to nothing. Too thin. Her head lolled weakly against his shoulder, but every now and then, he felt her tense-sharp flinches whenever his boots crunched too loud, or when a branch snapped somewhere nearby.

Trauma lived in every muscle of her body.

“You’re safe,” he murmured again, more for her than himself. “Just a little longer. The healers will take care of you.”

She didn’t respond, didn’t sign, didn’t lift her head, but he felt her heartbeat flutter like a bird’s wing, fast and erratic against his arm.

The treeline broke, and the village came back into view: still smoldering, still broken. Torches burned in a quiet perimeter around the camp. The night had deepened now, casting everything in a dull, aching gray.

Azriel descended the last rise toward the path leading to the camp when a familiar voice called out.

“Az?” Cassian emerged from around a pile of crates, brow furrowed. He froze mid-step as his eyes landed on the figure in Azriel’s arms. “What the hell?”

“She was in the woods,” Azriel said without slowing, his voice clipped but steady. “Tied to a tree. Alive. Barely.”

Cassian’s face darkened. “You’re serious?”

Azriel gave a sharp nod, eyes flicking down to the female in his arms. She kept her face turned inward, buried against his shoulder, as if the mere sight of another male might break her.

Cassian stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Where exactly did you find her?”

“Half a mile east of the perimeter,” Azriel said. “Tucked into a tree line past the ravine. They left her there.”

Cassian’s fists clenched. “Left her?”

Azriel didn’t miss the way her shoulders flinched again. He tightened his hold around her protectively.

Cassian’s expression softened just slightly as he crouched to her eye level. “Do you remember who did this to you?” he asked gently.

She stirred then. A hand moved hesitantly from Azriel’s chest, slow and trembling, as if even that effort cost her. Her fingers began to move, barely forming a sign before faltering.

“She can’t speak,” Azriel said quietly, his shadows curling around her like a shield. “She’s mute. I think she always has been.”

Cassian blinked, stunned. “Shit.”

“She couldn’t scream,” Azriel went on, his voice sharper now, more bitter. “That’s probably why they left her. Grew tired of her when she didn’t make enough noise while they—” He cut himself off, his jaw locking. “The marks on her body… they didn’t come from the ropes alone.”

Cassian swore under his breath, eyes flicking with a warrior’s rage and a male’s sorrow. “Monsters.”

Azriel looked down at her. “She needs a healer. Now.”

Cassian nodded immediately and moved aside, clearing the path ahead. “Go. I’ll make sure they know to expect you.”

Azriel strode past him, his steps swift as he made his way to the makeshift healer’s tent at the edge of the village. It was lit with soft blue faelight, quiet voices murmuring within. He ducked inside.

The healers, two older Fae females and a half-Illyrian male apprentice, looked up in surprise.

“She’s injured,” Azriel said. “Badly. Found her just now.”

One of the healers, a calm-eyed woman named Thera, stepped forward and motioned for him to lay the girl down on the cot. “Bring her here, carefully.”

Azriel hesitated only for a second. He turned to the girl in his arms, his voice soft. “You’re with healers now. No one will hurt you. I promise.”

She looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze.

There was nothing left in her eyes, no fight, no anger, not even fear. Just exhaustion. And behind it, buried deep, something older. A wound without a name.

He set her down gently. Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t pull away from his hand until the healer nudged him back.

“We’ll take it from here,” Thera said gently, already unfastening the remnants of the ropes from her wrists.

Azriel didn’t move far. He stayed just a few steps away, arms crossed, shadows flicking around him protectively like they were refusing to let go of her.

Cassian appeared in the tent’s entrance, arms crossed, watching her with the same quiet horror Azriel had swallowed down moments before.

“She’s lucky you found her,” Cassian said after a beat. “Another night out there and…”

Azriel didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on her face, on the way she winced at every touch, even the gentle ones. “It’s not luck.”

His voice was low. Absolute.

“She was meant to survive.”

────────────

Warmth.

That was the first thing she noticed.

Not the cloying, suffocating heat of ropes cutting into her skin or the rank, sticky breath of her captors. No. This warmth was soft. Dry. Almost… clean.

A blanket. Someone had tucked a blanket around her.

She blinked her eyes open. Faint blue light bathed the room, soft and shifting like water. The ceiling above her was canvas, not sky. She was lying on a cot. Her arms, for once, were free.

Her throat tightened.

I'm not tied up.

But her wrists still ached. Her whole body felt stiff, like her bones had forgotten how to lie still without pain. The pressure at her ankle pulsed in slow waves, wrapped now in linen and balm. She smelled herbs. Clean ones. And something else, leather, faint smoke, a scent like fresh wind after a storm.

She turned her head. He was there. The male who had found her. The quiet one. The one made of shadows.

He sat just beyond the edge of the cot, wings tucked in tight, shadows flicking softly around his shoulders like living smoke. His siphons gleamed blue in the faint light. But he was sitting like a sentry, not a predator.

He was watching her without staring, his expression unreadable. Not cold. Not cruel. Just... steady. A pillar in the storm.

She tried to move her hand. It shook.

The blanket slipped off her shoulder and panic rose like bile in her throat. She flinched, curling slightly, waiting for the blow, for the sneer, for the voice that would growl “Don’t waste my time again, mute girl.”

But nothing came. The shadows stirred. Not toward her, around her.

A gentle breeze kissed her temple. Not wind, not air, shadow. It felt like someone brushing hair from her face.

Her vision blurred. She blinked fast.

The last thing she remembered clearly was the sound of boots. Loud. Heavy. She'd kept her eyes closed as the footsteps approached the tree, too exhausted to move, too broken to care. She had thought, truly, deeply, this is the end. The males who left her had no interest in finishing the job. They just didn’t want to look at her anymore. She hadn’t made enough noise for them.

She'd learned early: screams fed monsters. Silence bored them.

So she stayed silent. Even when it hurt. Even when the ropes cut skin. Even when she bled. And they’d left her. Forgotten. Until him.

She turned her head again. Looked at him. His shadows stilled. Not gone, never gone, but quiet. Curious.

She lifted her hand. Slow. Trembling.

Signed: “Thank you.”

His head tilted slightly, and to her shock… he understood. He nodded once, low and firm, and murmured, “You don’t have to thank me.”

She stared at him.

Another sign: “You know?”

A pause. Then: “I do. A long time ago.” His voice was a whisper. Rough and soft at once. “I used to know someone like you.”

The words made her throat burn. Something inside her cracked open a little, not wide enough to be a wound, but enough to let air in. Enough to breathe again.

Her hand fell slowly back to her chest, the simple motion of signing already exhausting.

But he didn’t look away.

Azriel’s shadows curled faintly, retreating to his shoulders like they were giving her space. His wings shifted slightly, and then, with a quiet rustle, he moved closer. Not looming. Not hovering. Just near enough that his voice could stay low.

“Do you have a house here?” he asked, careful and quiet, like he was afraid to press too hard. “I could check. See if anything’s left.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, painfully, her fingers began to move again.

“I saw it burn.”

Azriel’s breath caught, but he didn’t interrupt.

“My sister was inside. I couldn’t—”

Her hands trembled too much to finish. The signs faltered and fell apart, and her throat clenched in frustration. Not being able to scream was one thing. But not being able to say it, even now, made the grief coil tighter around her chest.

Azriel didn’t ask for more. Didn’t demand she finish.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead, his voice rough. He shifted again, closer but not touching, and added, “You’re sure you’re alone now?”

She nodded once. It was the hardest motion of all.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The healer’s faelight swirled around them, blue and soft. Outside, the quiet hum of the camp settled into the air — the distant sound of Cassian’s voice barking orders, wood being stacked, water poured.

And still Azriel sat with her.

Then he spoke again. “We’re going to rebuild the village. All of it. We’ll keep it safe. I promise you, this will never happen again.”

She looked at him, not with hope, not yet. But with a fragile thread of belief. Not because she trusted easily, or because his words were sweet. But because his eyes didn’t lie.

Because when he said we’ll rebuild, she knew he meant every stone, every broken family, every shattered soul, including hers.

And he wasn’t promising to fix her.

He was promising that she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

────────────

The war room in the House of Wind smelled of parchment, cedar, and the faintest trace of lavender, likely from something Feyre had left behind. Morning light streamed through the high windows, catching on the scattered maps and marked reports laid across the obsidian table.

Rhysand stood at the head, fingers steepled under his chin as his violet eyes swept over the latest reports.

“They’re calling it Emberon now,” he said at last, tapping a finger to the northern ridge of the map. “The villagers decided on it a few days ago. Said they wanted something that acknowledged the fire, but didn’t let it define them.”

“Emberon,” Cassian echoed, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Has a ring to it.”

“Poetic,” Azriel added, though his voice was low, contemplative. His eyes lingered on the spot on the map, far beyond the borders of Velaris. The smoke and ash had long since cleared, but the memory remained vivid, especially one particular memory.

Rhys nodded. “Most of the homes are rebuilt. They’ve started clearing out the western fields for planting again. The last supply drop from Velaris got there two days ago. But I want to see it myself.”

“You’re going?” Cassian asked.

“I’ll only stay for the day. Feyre’s painting again, and Nyx has been using my leathers as a canvas. But I want to speak to the village leaders in person. Make sure they have what they need.”

“I’ll come,” Cassian said immediately. “I want to see the families again. The way they bounced back from that mess…” He trailed off, eyes hardening. “They deserve everything we can give.”

Rhysand turned to Azriel. “You?”

Azriel didn’t answer right away. His shadows curled thoughtfully across his shoulders, stirred by something quieter than words.

In truth, he’d been thinking about that village for days. Ever since the last courier had brought back news of a functioning market square and newly laid stone paths, a thread of thought kept pulling at him.

The girl.

The one he’d found bound to a tree, all bone and silence, eyes hollow from more pain than any person should endure. She hadn’t spoken, couldn’t speak, but her hands had told him enough.

He never got her name.

She’d stayed in the healer’s tent the last time he saw her, still too weak to walk. When he and Cassian had flown back to Velaris days after the attack, she hadn’t woken to say goodbye.

He hadn't expected her to. But he had thought about her far more than he admitted, wondered if she had a roof again, if she still flinched in her sleep. If she still signed “thank you” with trembling hands.

Azriel looked up. “I’ll come.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Didn’t think you’d say yes. Thought you were brooding too hard in your tower lately.”

Azriel gave him a flat look. “I’ll be brooding in the skies today.”

Cassian grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Rhysand just offered a small nod. “Then we leave within the hour. Bring warm gear, it still gets cold up in those hills.”

As Rhys vanished to prepare, Cassian stood and stretched with a dramatic groan. Azriel remained seated, tracing his gaze over the inked lines of Emberon on the map. It wasn’t just a village anymore, it was a scar turned to a seed.

He wondered if she was still there, among the rebuilding. If she had a home now. If her silence still felt like a prison, or if it had started to feel like power.

He didn’t know what he hoped for.

But he knew this: when he set foot in Emberon again, the first person he would look for was her.

The wind was brisk over the hills when they crested the last ridge and Emberon came into view.

It looked nothing like the place they’d left behind.

Where there had once been scorched timbers and the ghostly remains of shattered cottages, now stood a patchwork of new roofs, whitewashed stone, and garden plots with sprigs of green clawing their way through the thawing earth. Smoke curled from chimneys — not the smoke of ruin, but of hearths. Cooking fires. Blacksmith forges. Life.

Children ran between homes, their laughter carried on the wind. Baskets of bread and vegetables sat outside doors. Bright scraps of fabric fluttered on clotheslines like prayer flags.

A rough wooden sign greeted them at the edge of the road: Welcome to Emberon Forged by Fire - Reborn by Choice

Azriel’s shadows stilled around him as they landed at the edge of the main square. He wasn’t the only one surprised.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “They’ve done a gods-damned miracle here.”

Rhysand didn’t respond immediately, his violet gaze scanning every face, every movement. Then he gave a quiet, satisfied nod. “This is what rebuilding should look like.”

The square was buzzing with activity. A group of Fae elders spoke quietly at a stone table under a tree in bloom. Two younger males carried buckets from a well. And off to the side, a tall healer was speaking with a few villagers, nodding in approval at someone’s bandaged arm.

But Azriel wasn’t focused on any of them.

His shadows had stirred again. Not warning, guiding.

They pulled softly at the edge of his coat, brushing his neck and nudging his gaze toward the far side of the square. Toward a small communal garden fenced with woven branches.

And there she was.

Kneeling in the soil, sleeves rolled past her elbows, dark earth streaking her hands and forearms. A loose braid of hair hung over one shoulder, strands escaping to catch the sun. Her face was turned toward the raised bed, her expression hidden, but there was something different about her now.

Not fragile.

Focused.

She moved carefully, planting tiny seedlings into the soil with practiced care. Around her, several others worked, older women, a pair of teenagers, but even in the crowd, Azriel saw her as clearly as if she stood in a spotlight.

He felt it again, that thread, that invisible pull in his chest. It didn’t ache like it had before. Not grief. Not guilt.

Just a quiet, steady certainty.

She was alive.

He hadn’t imagined her resilience, her presence. She wasn’t still in a healer’s cot, curled into herself. She was here. Rooted.

Cassian followed his gaze, and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is that her?”

Azriel didn’t answer.

Because in that moment, she looked up.

Her eyes met his across the square, not startled, not afraid, just still.

Recognition flickered there, followed by something gentler. Like the first breeze of spring brushing across old wounds.

She stood slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. And though she didn’t smile, didn’t wave, didn’t move toward him… she didn’t turn away either.

Azriel’s shadows curled like smoke around his boots. “She’s stronger,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Cassian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Looks like someone’s been taking care of her.”

Azriel nodded once. “Or maybe… she’s been taking care of herself.”

Across the square, she tilted her head, just slightly, and lifted one hand. The sign was small. Barely a motion.

Hello.

And for the first time in weeks, Azriel felt the corners of his mouth lift. Not a smile, exactly. But something close.

Hello, he signed back.

Azriel crossed the square with deliberate steps, not because he feared startling her, not anymore, but because he wasn’t sure how to approach her. Not because of any distance between them, but because he had grown used to watching her from a distance, giving her the space she needed to heal.

As he neared the low fence, she noticed him. She straightened, brushing her palms against her apron once again. There were faint traces of dirt on her cheeks, and her hair was loosely braided, a few strands escaping as she worked. She didn’t seem startled by his presence, but instead looked at him with quiet curiosity, the same way she had the first time he had found her in the woods.

When Azriel reached the edge of the garden, he stopped. He gave her the choice, as he always did, waiting to see what she would do next.

She tilted her head, just slightly, and then without a word, she stepped through the small gate, closing the space between them.

Azriel stood still for a moment, taking in the changes he could see in her. Her face had filled out with strength, the faint weariness in her eyes replaced by something more like calm determination. There was a quiet confidence in the way she held herself, the way she moved between the rows of plants, even as the shadow of her past still lingered in her gaze.

When she stood before him, she didn’t look away. There was no tension in her body, no unease, just an understanding that they were both in this moment together.

Her hands moved, slow but steady. “You came back.”

Azriel’s voice was soft, low. “I wanted to see the village. And see if you were still here.”

For a long moment, she didn’t respond. Then she signed again, more slowly this time, as though careful with her words. “I never left.”

Azriel’s chest tightened at her words. He didn’t know what he had expected, but there was something in her response that settled in him, a quiet kind of peace, maybe. That she had stayed. That she had found a way to stay.

She hesitated, fingers trembling ever so slightly before continuing. “You never asked for my name.”

Azriel felt a pang of realization. He hadn’t asked for her name, hadn’t thought to ask it before. The moment of crisis, of survival, had taken away the small things, the human things. He hadn’t asked, because there hadn’t been space to.

“I didn’t want to ask until you were ready,” he replied quietly.

She regarded him for a long moment, her eyes studying his face, then placed her hand gently over her chest.

“Y/N.”

Azriel repeated the name in his mind, letting it settle like a new melody in his thoughts. He nodded, though his voice was quiet when he spoke again. “Azriel.”

There was no smile, but her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something there. Maybe it was acknowledgment. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was both.

She then turned slightly, gesturing to the garden around them. “Do you want to see?”

Azriel nodded and followed her through the rows of plants. She led him from one raised bed to the next, pointing out herbs, vegetables, and flowers, thyme, rosemary, young lettuce, and the beginnings of carrots and squash. With every motion, she signed the name of the plant, and Azriel followed her hands, his gaze not on the plants but on the rhythm of her movements. The way her hands danced through the air as if she had been doing this all her life.

At one point, Y/N handed him a small wooden trowel, her expression one of quiet challenge. Azriel accepted it, and with a slow, deliberate motion, crouched beside her, taking his time as he began to dig gently into the earth. Together, in silence, they planted a row of small sprouts.

There was no rush. No expectation. Just the quiet work of two souls who, for this moment, shared something that wasn’t spoken aloud but was understood.

After some time, Y/N stood and wiped her hands on her apron. She didn’t look at Azriel immediately but glanced down at the garden, a small flicker of something passing over her face. When she finally did look back at him, there was no sadness in her expression. No fear.

Just quiet contentment.

Azriel’s shadows, which had settled low around him, shifted lightly at his feet, as if aware of the change in the air between them. The space between them felt less like distance, less like hesitation, and more like a soft, growing connection.

For the first time since he’d found her in the woods, Azriel allowed himself to believe in the possibility of what could come next, in the small, steady steps forward, and in the quiet trust that was beginning to blossom between them.

The village of Emberon was slowly coming back to life. The faint hum of hammers and chisels filled the air as more homes were rebuilt, children played in the dirt streets, and the scent of fresh bread wafted from a small bakery on the corner. Azriel walked beside Y/N, his shadows swirling at his heels, as she led him toward the place she had called home since her recovery. It was a modest house, but to her, it was a sanctuary. The early evening sun bathed the streets in golden light as they made their way through the village, Azriel glancing at the quiet houses and newly constructed buildings.

"I can't believe it's finally coming together," Azriel murmured quietly, his tone soft as he looked around at the rebuilding.

Y/N gave him a smile, though it was subtle, and motioned toward the direction of her house with a small wave of her hand. She signed quickly, and Azriel nodded, catching the gist of her words. "I’m proud of it. Of what’s been built here."

They had been walking in silence, and Azriel found comfort in the stillness, the sense of normalcy beginning to return to the village. His mind drifted as they walked, but it was broken by the sound of raised voices from down the street. His sharp eyes cut through the crowd, and he spotted Cassian and Rhysand talking to a tall fae male, a general from another region, right outside one of the shops. The conversation seemed to be heated, and Cassian’s boisterous voice was hard to miss even from a distance.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then gestured for Azriel to follow her toward the group. She wanted to show him her new home, but there was no harm in saying hello. As they approached, Cassian turned and spotted them immediately, his grin widening at the sight of Y/N.

“Well, well, look who it is!” Cassian called, his voice booming across the street. He took a few steps forward, his eyes scanning her, noticing her calm but wary demeanor. “How are you?”

Azriel stood back a little, watching as Y/N stepped forward to respond. She raised her hands, signing rapidly, and Azriel moved closer to her side. His shadows drifted around her, a constant comfort, as he translated her words for Cassian.

“She says she’s doing better,” Azriel said softly. “She’s settling in.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening. “That’s good to hear. You know, we’ve been working hard to help everyone here. You’ve got a good home now.”

Y/N signed again, this time more slowly, and Azriel watched as her hands moved fluidly. He translated for her again, the words flowing as she spoke.

“She’s thankful for everything that’s been done,” Azriel said, glancing back at Cassian. “But she still remembers everything. It’s hard to move past it all, even if she has a place of her own.”

Rhysand, who had been quiet up until now, stepped forward, his violet eyes locking with Y/N. The breeze shifted as the power of his Daemati abilities sparked in the air around him. Without a word, Rhysand reached out, connecting with her mind. Azriel’s brow furrowed as he watched, instinctively stepping back, sensing the power at play. He couldn’t hear their conversation, and neither could Cassian, but it was clear what was happening.

Y/N’s eyes softened as Rhysand’s voice entered her thoughts, and Azriel felt a strange mix of emotions as he watched her respond, her lips moving slightly, but not making a sound.

“You’ve helped so many here, Rhysand,” Y/N’s voice came, quiet but clear in Rhysand's mind. “Without you, and without Azriel and his shadows, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

Azriel felt the weight of their conversation in his chest, but he couldn’t hear what they said. He didn’t need to. The connection between the two of them, that subtle shift in her expression, told him everything he needed to know. There was a tenderness in the way Y/N held herself, a gratitude so deep that Azriel felt it resonate with his own heart.

Suddenly, Rhysand broke through the mental connection, his voice cutting through the air for all to hear, loud and firm.

“It’s our responsibility,” Rhysand said, his voice carrying over the conversation. “To protect, to help, and to make sure this never happens again. We will rebuild this place, just like we’ve rebuilt so many others.”

Azriel stood still, his eyes focused on Y/N’s reaction. She blinked, as though Rhysand’s words were just as powerful in her mind as they were in the air, and she gave a small nod. It was as though she had heard it all before, and yet, it still made a difference to her.

Y/N turned to face them, her hands moving again. She signed with slow, graceful gestures, her fingers weaving through the air as she asked Azriel to translate.

“She’s offering us food,” Azriel said with a small smile, his voice quieter now. “She wants us to come to her place. A quick meal.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “I’m not turning down a free meal,” he said, his voice teasing.

Azriel glanced at Y/N, who smiled at Cassian's words. Then, with a subtle nod, she turned toward her home, motioning for them to follow.

Rhysand’s eyes lingered on the village for a moment before he turned to follow them. “Lead the way, Y/N. We’ll be happy to join you.”

Azriel, trailing behind, allowed his shadows to flow around him like a cloak. He could feel the weight of the day lifting, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the meal or because Y/N had invited them into her world. They had done what they could for her, for the village, but it was clear that her journey was far from over. Still, there was a small flicker of hope in the air, a belief that maybe, just maybe, she could begin again.

The inside of Y/N's house was simple, yet welcoming. The small kitchen area had a hearth where a pot of stew simmered on the flames, filling the air with a savory aroma. The furniture was modest but carefully placed, and the warmth of her home was a stark contrast to the cold, barren village Azriel had found her in all those weeks ago. The stone walls were lined with fresh herbs, and small touches of color from woven fabrics gave it a sense of life.

Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel stood near the entrance, surveying the space. Cassian was running his hand along the rough wooden shelves, his eyes scanning the room for anything that stood out. He noticed a few things still left unfinished, some shelves that weren’t fully mounted, a small pile of firewood in the corner that needed to be stacked.

Rhysand’s eyes were softer than usual as he observed the place. The High Lord of the Night Court was always in command, always exuding a certain distance, but here, in the quiet of Y/N’s home, something in him softened. He turned his attention to her, and his voice was gentle as he reached out to her mind.

“Y/N,” Rhysand’s voice was like a whisper in her thoughts. “Would you like us to help finish anything here? We could take care of the shelves or the firewood, whatever you need.”

Y/N paused for a moment, considering the offer, but then signed in a quick, dismissive motion as she shook her head. She wanted to refuse, her hands moving gracefully in the air as she said to Azriel, who translated for the group.

“She says she couldn’t possibly ask for the High Lord of the Night Court to do something like that,” Azriel said with a chuckle, his voice warm as he glanced toward Rhysand. “She’s too proud.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” he said aloud, his voice echoing in the small space. “I won’t put my hands on anything. But Cassian over here”, he grinned slyly, “he’ll do all the work.”

Cassian’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What?” he grumbled. “I don’t even know how to-”

Before Cassian could protest further, Rhysand just waved a hand dismissively, clearly enjoying the banter. Azriel couldn’t help but grin a little as he watched the two of them, but his attention soon shifted as Y/N turned back to the stove, checking on the stew.

Azriel gave the room one last sweep and noticed that Y/N had already begun setting the table for the meal. He could see the care she’d put into everything, but there was still a certain sense of unfinished business, the house wasn’t quite complete, and the simple details spoke volumes about how much she had left to do.

He moved toward her, not wanting to stand idle. “I’ll help with the stew,” Azriel offered quietly, his voice low but steady.

Y/N glanced at him, a smile playing at the corner of her lips before she nodded. She handed him the ladle to stir the pot, and Azriel did so with ease, his attention on the bubbling stew. He caught the faint scent of vegetables and spices, his mouth watering slightly. The sounds of Cassian and Rhysand’s conversation in the background faded as he focused on the simple task of preparing the meal.

Once the stew was ready, Y/N began ladling it into bowls with precise, careful movements, her hands flowing through the motions as if she had done it a thousand times. Azriel stood by, ready to help, and as she placed the bowls on the counter, he moved to take them and set them on the table.

But just as he was about to move, one of his shadows seemed to get in his way. It darted out from behind him, swirling in front of his hands like an unruly piece of cloth. He tried to move past it, but it lingered, twining in front of him like it had a mind of its own. His focus was split for just a moment, and before he realized it, the stew spilled over the edge of the bowl, splashing onto his hands.

Azriel cursed under his breath, grimacing as the hot liquid seared his skin. He jumped back, quickly wiping his hands on the towel he had nearby. The sting of the burn made his jaw tighten, but it wasn’t unbearable. He muttered a curse to himself, knowing it was his own fault for not being more mindful.

“Damn shadows,” he told them, low and to himself, not realizing how loud his thoughts were as he cursed.

But then, just as he was preparing to move the bowl again, a cold, wet cloth pressed gently to his hand. Azriel froze, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looked up to see Y/N, who had come to his side without him even realizing. She was focused, her hands working quickly to press the towel to his injured skin.

Azriel blinked in surprise. “How did you-”

Y/N’s gaze met his, and she tilted her head, her brow furrowed in concern. She seemed to sense his confusion and signed back to him, her hands moving slowly and deliberately as she explained.

“I heard you,” she signed carefully. “I could hear you talking to yourself. I thought... I thought you were in pain.”

Azriel’s breath hitched. He had been speaking to himself, yes, but there was no way she could have heard him. Wasn’t it just his internal thoughts? She couldn't have—

“Wait,” he asked, his voice a little unsure, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You... you heard me?”

Y/N nodded, a flicker of confusion in her own eyes. She signed again.

“You were talking to your shadows. I heard it. Are you okay?”

Azriel’s mouth went dry, and his mind raced. He had been speaking to his shadows, sure, but the fact that she could hear him... that was something else entirely. He had never imagined that someone who couldn’t speak could somehow hear his thoughts. It was impossible... but then again, this was Y/N.

Azriel paused for a moment, staring at her, trying to process everything. “Can you hear... my thoughts? Like how Rhysand can?”

Y/N’s brow furrowed even more in confusion, and she signed again, this time slower, as if trying to make sense of it herself.

“I don’t know. I just... I could hear you. In my mind. Can you hear me, too?”

Azriel blinked, feeling the faintest ripple of something he couldn’t explain, something new between them. “I... I think I can.”

He wasn’t sure how it worked, or why it was happening, but as he stood there, with the cold cloth still pressed to his hand, a strange connection started to form. He could hear her in his head, her thoughts were as clear as if she had spoken aloud.

Azriel’s mouth went dry as he turned to her, unsure whether to be thrilled or confused. “This... this is new.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a small, unsure smile. She signed once more.

“Maybe it’s something we share now. I’m not sure.”

Azriel smiled faintly, looking down at his hand, which no longer burned from the hot stew. His shadows had settled, and his mind was still spinning. But in that moment, he felt something shift between them, something tangible and warm.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, feeling more at ease than he had in weeks. “Together.”

Y/N nodded, and Azriel couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope rise in his chest. Maybe this was a new beginning, one where she didn’t have to remain silent anymore.

────────────

The sun had already dipped behind the hills, casting the village in soft lavender hues when Azriel knocked gently on Y/N’s door. A cool breeze stirred the leaves in the trees outside, rustling just loud enough to be noticed. Her home, tucked between two larger cottages near the outer edge of the rebuilt village, was bathed in the golden light of a few lanterns within.

Y/N opened the door before he could knock again, her expression neutral at first, but softening immediately at the sight of him. She stepped aside wordlessly, inviting him in.

Azriel stepped inside, the warmth of her home wrapping around him like a soft blanket. It smelled faintly of dried herbs, pinewood, and something sweet.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked him, speaking gently into his mind.

He nodded. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

A flicker of warmth crossed her face as she moved into the small kitchen area, setting a kettle on the iron stove. From a wooden drawer she pulled out a small tin and opened it, releasing the delicate fragrance of her favorite blend, peppermint, chamomile, and rose hip. The colors were beautiful in the low light: deep green leaves, pale yellow petals, rich crimson fruit. She dropped them into a small teapot and poured hot water over them.

Azriel watched her from a nearby chair, silent, but something about the domesticity of it, her careful movements, the quiet ritual of preparing something comforting, felt oddly intimate. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this kind of quiet.

When the tea had steeped, she poured two cups and handed him one. Their fingers brushed briefly. He muttered a soft “thank you,” and she nodded, taking her seat by the hearth, gesturing for him to join her.

They sipped in silence for a few minutes, letting the warmth of the drink settle into their bones. Then, she looked up at him, her gaze sharp but kind.

“You’re troubled,” she said into his mind, gently, without judgment.

Azriel leaned back, his fingers wrapped around the cup, wings slightly hunched behind him. “I’ve been thinking. About… this. You and me. Whatever this is.”

She didn’t interrupt. Just waited, eyes steady on his.

“It’s not a mating bond,” he said slowly. “At least, I don’t think it is. I’ve read everything I could find on the subject over the years. I thought… I hoped I’d recognize it instantly, if it ever happened. I would know. But this...” He paused. “It feels different.”

Y/N’s eyes didn’t leave his. Her mental voice was quiet, steady. “It’s not a mating bond.”

Azriel stiffened, then nodded once. “You’re sure?”

“I had one once,” she said. The words slid gently into his thoughts, but their weight landed heavily. “A true mating bond. I rejected it.”

His brows drew together. He set the cup down, leaning forward. “Why?”

“Because he was cruel. Manipulative. He wanted to break me, not cherish me.” Her hands remained folded in her lap, but her voice in his head was calm. “The bond was there, yes. But I would rather walk alone than be bound to someone like him.”

Azriel’s chest ached. He shifted to sit across from her now, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “And yet,” he said, “you and I… we have something.”

“We do.”

“I can speak to you without sound. You can answer. It’s not like what you have with Rhys, I can’t do that with anyone else. And you can’t do it with anyone else, either, can you?”

She shook her head. “Only you. And Rhys, because of what he is. But with you… it’s different. Easier. Natural.”

He studied her face, her stillness, the way her shadows always seemed to draw nearer when he was near her. “Maybe it’s the shadows,” she offered softly. “They understand me. I’ve always felt like they listened when no one else could. Maybe they… carry me to you.”

Azriel looked down. His own shadows curled at his ankles, one brushing the hem of her skirt. They didn’t pull away. If anything, they seemed... content. Restful.

“You might be right,” he admitted. “I’ve never known them to behave like this before. They whisper to me, warn me, guide me… but they’ve never connected me to someone like this.”

She leaned forward slightly. “Do you think they’re giving you something you didn’t know you needed?”

The question was quiet, but it dug in deep. Azriel looked up, met her eyes, and for a moment, it felt like she’d peeled back every layer he spent a lifetime guarding.

“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low even in his own mind. “Maybe they are.”

Y/N’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but something just as kind. She reached for the teapot, poured them both another cup.

And as they sat there, in the fading evening light with the scent of peppermint and rose hip between them, neither spoke aloud.

They didn’t need to.

The air between them shifted, thick with unspoken words. The warmth from their tea had settled into the bones of the small cottage, but Azriel couldn’t shake the feeling that something heavy lingered in the space between them. He’d always known Y/N was a survivor, that there was more to her silence than met the eye, but he hadn’t pushed, until now.

The shadows at his feet coiled tighter, drawn to the quiet stillness of the room. He could feel them, just as he could feel the weight of her presence. She was stronger than she realized, but there were cracks in her walls. Azriel’s mind lingered on those cracks, and the realization hit him hard: She has a story. And I need to hear it.

“Y/N,” Azriel began, his voice quiet but steady, “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to, but... I need to ask. Were you always mute?”

She paused, her fingers gently tracing the edge of her teacup. Her eyes fell to her lap, and for a moment, he feared she would close off completely, retreating into herself. But then, slowly, she looked up at him. The silent communication between them was a delicate thread now, one she grasped without hesitation. And for a brief second, Azriel saw the rawness behind her calm facade.

“No,” she said, her mental voice soft, laced with pain. “I wasn’t always like this.”

Azriel leaned forward, sensing that this was the moment where the walls would either crumble or solidify. He said nothing more, allowing her the space to share her story on her terms.

She inhaled deeply before speaking again, her voice now shaking, though still only audible to him. “I was born into a family that was... never safe. My parents were good people, I think. But the world around us was always breaking, always trying to tear us apart. I was just a little girl, caught in the chaos.” Her mind drifted for a moment, eyes looking past him, as if seeing something Azriel couldn’t.

“When I was young, our village was attacked, too. They came at night, burning homes, ripping families apart. My parents were taken from me, pulled from my arms while I was screaming, too loud, too helpless. They told me to be quiet. They told me that if I made a sound, I would die like them.”

Azriel’s heart twisted painfully at her words, at the way she spoke with such quiet certainty of loss. But what struck him the most was the calmness in her voice, as though she had long ago resigned herself to the horrors she had lived through.

Her mind continued, and the weight of her trauma filled every thought. “After they... they killed them, the others came for me and my sister. They said they’d cut out my tongue if I ever screamed. They said I was worthless if I didn’t learn to obey, to shut up. And they made sure I understood by threatening to do it right there.”

Y/N’s eyes squeezed shut, the pain almost palpable even though it was confined within her mind. Azriel could see the shadows at her feet, as if they, too, felt her anguish. He reached for his own, needing the connection, needing to hold something tangible as her memories bled through their shared silence.

“They locked us away. Kept us in a room, chained to a wall. And every time I tried to make a sound, anything, there were punishments. Whips. Swords. It didn’t matter. The message was clear: Don’t speak. Don’t make a sound. And after a while... I couldn’t anymore. I was so terrified. Every time I tried, it felt like my voice was gone.”

She paused, the heaviness of her confession suffocating the air between them. Azriel could feel it, could see it in her eyes. The tears that had never fallen, the silent scream she could never release.

She looked at him now, her eyes full of something else, resignation, but also a quiet, unyielding strength. “It’s like my voice was stolen. It’s not just fear anymore. It’s like my body just... refuses. Even now, if I try to speak, nothing comes out. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

The silence that followed was deep, and Azriel felt like the room itself had stopped breathing. His hands clenched into fists, the sharp ache of helplessness pulling through his chest. What she had been through, what she still carried, was unimaginable. And yet, she was still here. Alive. Still fighting.

Azriel didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there were words to make this right. Instead, he took a slow breath, pushing through the growing ache. “You don’t have to fix it, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice rougher than usual. “You don’t have to speak for me to understand you.”

Her eyes flickered with something like relief, but she didn’t respond. She just closed the space between them, a tentative touch to his arm, her hand resting there, silent but full of meaning.

“I just…” she thought, her mental voice hesitant, “I want to be heard. In my own way. To be understood.”

Azriel reached up slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He didn’t need to speak aloud. He didn’t need to fill the silence with words. Instead, he let her know, through the bond they shared — through the shadows and his steady presence — that she was heard.

Azriel sat in stillness for a moment longer, watching the way her fingers curled around her teacup as if grounding herself through the warmth. The weight of her story still hung in the room, but there was something new now, a vulnerability she hadn’t shown before, and the trust it took to reveal it.

He shifted slightly, resting his arms on his knees. His voice came quiet, thoughtful, each word etched with a heaviness he didn’t try to hide.

“Aren’t you afraid,” he asked gently, “that something like that might happen again?”

Her head lifted at that, her eyes meeting his, not startled, not offended. Just honest. He hesitated, then continued.

“It happened again, Y/N. Just a few weeks ago. That night I found you... bound, bleeding. Alone.”

The shadows at his back flickered restlessly, echoing the unease he barely contained.

She was quiet for a long time before her voice slipped into his mind, soft and sure. “Yes. I’m afraid.”

She didn’t try to hide it. And the admission, simple as it was, carved deeper into Azriel than any scream ever could.

“But I trust Rhysand,” she added. “This village matters to him. To you. I believe he’ll keep us safe.”

Azriel’s jaw flexed as he looked at her, at the softness of her features, the hard-earned strength beneath. The shadows whispered against his skin, tugging at him, as if echoing what he was about to say.

He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair, and then asked what had been weighing on him since the day he left the village: “Would you come to Velaris?”

Y/N blinked, taken aback, her fingers going still against her cup.

“It’s safer there,” Azriel said quickly, before she could answer. “The city is protected. Guarded. No one would touch you. I could take you there. You’d be safe.”

He didn’t say I’d sleep better knowing you’re behind those wards. He didn’t say I think about you more than I should. But it was all there, in the way his voice dipped, the way his shadows hovered near her like they were drawn to her pain, her quiet strength.

Y/N’s thoughts reached him after a moment, hesitant but clear. “I can’t abandon them.”

Azriel frowned slightly, but said nothing as she continued.

“These people… they stayed. They rebuilt this place together. With blood on the ground and ash in their mouths, they still stood. I can’t leave them behind.”

He nodded slowly. He understood, more than she could know. Still, he leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you can’t scream for help.”

He hated the sound of that truth aloud. “If something were to happen again-”

“Then maybe,” she cut in gently, “you could teach me how to stay safe.”

Azriel blinked. Her eyes met his, unwavering. There was no fear in them now, only quiet determination.

The shadows stilled.

“You want me to train you?” he asked, surprise flickering through his voice.

She nodded. “I don’t want to be helpless again. I don’t want to rely on someone hearing me. I want to be able to protect myself… and others too.”

Azriel’s mouth curved — not quite a smile, but something close. “Alright.” His voice was gravel and warmth. “Then tomorrow, we begin.”

And even though she said nothing aloud, he felt the quiet warmth ripple across their bond, gratitude, fierce and radiant, and beneath it, something new: Hope.

────────────

The sun had just begun to dip behind the Sidra, painting Velaris in shades of gold and lavender as Starfall’s first shimmering streaks whispered across the sky.

At the House of Wind, laughter and warmth swirled through the grand dining hall like old music. Lanterns floated gently above the long table, casting soft hues of blue and violet over wine glasses and golden plates. The Inner Circle was gathered, every one of them dressed in star-kissed silks or tailored leathers, the room buzzing with anticipation, except for one lingering question.

“Why aren’t we eating?” Nesta asked, arms folded, her patience thinning as she eyed the untouched food on the table. She looked radiant tonight, as always, in midnight blue, like she belonged among the stars themselves.

Rhysand, lounging at the head of the table with Feyre nestled beside him, smiled with that infuriating calm of his. “Because,” he said smoothly, “Azriel is picking someone up.”

Cassian, who had just downed a sip of wine, leaned back in his chair and smirked. “You mean Azriel and his girlfriend.”

Mor nearly choked on her drink, eyes sparkling. “Wait, seriously? Are they…?”

She left the question open, eyebrows raised toward Rhysand.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced toward the open balcony, where the night sky had begun to stir with faint threads of starlight. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, thoughtful. “I don’t know what to call it,” he said. “But I can feel it. Whatever is between them, it’s real. And different.”

Amren, perched near the end of the table, narrowed her silver eyes. “He shares something with her he doesn’t with any of us. That much is clear.”

Feyre nodded softly, brushing her fingers along the stem of her glass. “I’ve seen it, too. The way his shadows behave around her, like they’re part of her now.”

The conversation faded into a hush as a faint sound stirred from the hall, the rustle of boots on stone, the quiet press of wings folding behind them.

The door opened, and Azriel stepped inside, dressed in soft black, his Siphons gleaming like frozen stars on his hands and shoulders. At his side walked Y/N.

She wore deep forest green with a shimmer of silver woven into the fabric, nothing elaborate, but breathtaking in its simplicity. A small braid was pinned behind her ear, and her gaze moved over the Inner Circle with a calm steadiness that held no fear. Only curiosity. And quiet strength.

Azriel kept close beside her, a shadow brushing along her arm like it was anchoring her, or maybe the other way around.

Rhysand stood first, his smile genuine. “Welcome.”

Y/N bowed her head gently in greeting, and though she didn’t speak, she didn’t need to — the way her eyes met each of theirs, full of quiet warmth and gratitude, said enough.

“Thank you,” her voice echoed gently into Rhysand’s mind. “For letting me be here.”

Rhysand inclined his head with a smile, then turned toward the rest of the room. “Shall we eat now, Nesta?”

Nesta rolled her eyes, though a smirk played at her lips.

Cassian was already rising to his feet, nudging a chair out beside him. “Come sit, Az. And Y/N, we saved the good bread for you.”

Mor beamed as Y/N took a seat beside Azriel, the shadows around him curling like smoke in moonlight, peaceful for the first time in days.

And outside, the stars began to fall, like silver rain from the heavens, silent and endless.

Dinner was laughter, the clink of glasses, warm candlelight, and the shimmer of magic laced in the air.

Y/N sat quietly between Azriel and Feyre, a faint smile on her lips as she watched the easy rhythm of the Inner Circle, the way Cassian teased Mor with flicks of bread rolls, the way Amren rolled her eyes and muttered about “children,” even though the corners of her lips were quirked in amusement.

“Did Azriel tell you,” Cassian said mid-chew, gesturing toward Y/N with his fork, “that he threatened three construction workers last week for letting a hammer fall too close to your garden?”

Azriel, without looking up from his plate, said calmly, “I told them to be more careful.”

“You said,” Mor mimicked in a deadly-serious tone, “‘Drop that again and I’ll rip your arms off and bury them in the herb bed.’” She grinned at Y/N. “We were all there.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly in amusement, then her hands moved, quick, fluid gestures of her fingers.

Feyre laughed, translating instinctively, “She says the hammer didn’t even touch the ground.”

Azriel’s lip twitched.

“I told you,” Cassian said, pointing his fork again. “Absolutely whipped.”

Azriel didn’t argue. He just raised a brow and flicked a shadow toward Cassian’s wine, tipping the cup ever-so-slightly.

Y/N caught the movement and bit back a laugh, shaking her head as if to say boys.

The Inner Circle was basking in warmth, and Y/N felt the unfamiliar but comforting sensation of being part of something, even if she mostly listened. Still, she didn’t feel apart from them. Not tonight.

Azriel stayed close at her side, his shadows uncharacteristically calm. Every so often, he’d lean in, not out of necessity, but as if it was simply his instinct now.

When Cassian launched into another embellished story about Mor and a bakery brawl years ago, Y/N turned slightly toward Azriel and caught his eye.

“Are they always like this?” she asked in his mind, her tone dry, amused.

Azriel’s lips curved faintly. “This is tame. Wait until Cassian’s had three more glasses of wine and starts dancing.”

She laughed silently, a soft sparkle lighting her eyes.

“You’ve changed,” she added after a moment, more hesitantly now. “Since the night you found me. You seem… lighter.”

Azriel turned his head to her, searching her face in the flickering glow. “Maybe because you’re here. And safe. It’s easier to breathe when I know that.”

Across the table, a pair of sharp silver eyes were watching them closely.

Amren said nothing. She swirled the deep red wine in her goblet and observed the pair, the way they seemed to speak without a sound, how Azriel’s shoulders loosened when he was with Y/N, how Y/N’s expressions shifted as though full conversations were happening in silence.

There was something deeper there. Not a mating bond, she’d known enough of those to recognize it, but something… older. Stranger.

When dessert arrived, Amren stood without a word.

Feyre glanced over. “You’re not staying?”

“I have something to look into,” Amren replied, her tone clipped as always, though her eyes flicked once more to Azriel and Y/N before she turned. “Something I should’ve thought of sooner.”

And then she was gone, shadows slipping behind her as she vanished from the dining hall, no doubt heading toward the library’s oldest corners.

Back at the table, Y/N noticed Azriel watching Amren leave. She nudged his arm gently, tilting her head.

“Everything alright?”

He shook his head once. “With her, who knows.” But his eyes softened when he looked back at her. “You okay?”

Y/N nodded. “I’m more than okay. This is the first time in… years… that I feel like I’m not surviving. I’m just living.”

Azriel blinked slowly, something fierce and fragile sparking behind his eyes.

Then, almost without thinking, he reached under the table, just a brush of his pinky finger against hers, a quiet promise. She stilled, and then wrapped her fingers around his.

Later, when most of the Inner Circle had drifted to other corners of the House of Wind, some to sip wine by the fire, others to dance beneath the starlight, Azriel and Y/N slipped away to one of the balconies.

They said nothing for a while. They didn’t need to.

Y/N leaned against the stone railing, gazing up at the stars as they fell in slow, glowing streaks. The sky shimmered with ancient magic, vast and silver-blue and full of unspoken dreams. Her hair moved gently in the breeze, and Azriel, standing just behind her, watched as one of his shadows twined itself around her wrist like a ribbon, then flitted away as if shy.

She turned to him after a moment, her voice touching his mind in that soft, singular way.

“Is it always like this?”

Azriel shook his head. “Some years, the stars fall slower. Sometimes the wind carries them in spirals. This… this is rare.”

She smiled faintly, her eyes reflecting the light. “Then I’m glad I’m seeing it like this. With you.”

A pause.

He looked at her, really looked, as if this was the first time he could, uninterrupted by fear or pain or the weight of everything else they’d survived.

“I thought I knew what I was looking for,” Azriel murmured. “All these centuries. I thought I’d know the shape of it when it came.”

Her brows lifted, curious.

He stepped closer, slowly, giving her time, space, always.

“But this,” he said, voice lower now. “This wasn’t what I expected. It’s not a mating bond. It’s not fire. It’s… quiet. Like peace. Like my shadows finally have nothing to warn me about.”

She didn’t speak to his mind immediately. Instead, she reached out, just barely, and brushed her fingers against his.

Azriel’s eyes darkened as they held hers.

“Then maybe,” she said gently in his mind, “you weren’t looking for fire. Maybe you were always looking for quiet.”

The words landed like a balm across a scar.

Slowly, deliberately, Azriel lifted one hand and cupped her jaw. His thumb skimmed the curve of her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Her breath caught, eyes wide and shining.

When he leaned in, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t claimed. It was reverent.

Their lips met beneath the falling stars - soft, slow, warm.

Y/N exhaled into him, and Azriel breathed her in like he had waited a lifetime to do so.

Above them, a shooting star blazed past, brighter than the rest. And for a moment, time stilled.

When they parted, Y/N rested her forehead against his chest, her mind brushing his again with a whisper: “You make me feel safe.”

Azriel’s hands trembled just slightly where they held her.

“I will always keep you safe,” he murmured aloud. “No matter where you are.”

The stars were still falling when the soft click of the balcony door stirred them from their shared silence.

Azriel turned first, instinctively, his shadows twitching before settling as the figure stepped into view.

Amren.

She looked… different. Not in appearance, still timeless, still clothed in midnight silk and draped in something sharper than elegance, but there was an intensity in her silver eyes that hadn’t been there at dinner.

“I thought I’d find you two out here,” she said, folding her arms. “You’ve become rather inseparable.”

Y/N straightened slightly, unsure if she should step back from Azriel, but his hand remained gently over hers, grounding, not possessive. She didn’t move.

Amren strode to the balcony’s edge, glancing once at the sky, then at them again.

“I saw the way you were interacting tonight,” she said plainly. “The way you speak without sound, how your magic knows each other before you do. It reminded me of something I once read. A long, long time ago.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “You went to the library.”

Amren’s mouth twisted into something half-smirk, half-snarl. “Of course I did. I don’t like mysteries I can’t name. And what you two have-” she waved a hand vaguely between them, “-is not a mating bond.”

Y/N’s brows drew together. Amren turned her gaze to her.

“No, girl, it’s not a bond of body or desire. But it is powerful. And old.”

She paused, and for once, the silence was heavy.

“It’s called a thirren bond,” Amren said at last, voice quieter. “From a language lost before Velaris was even built. It only happens under very rare, specific circumstances. Two souls, both fractured, but not by fate, like mates. By experience. By grief. And sometimes, when the cracks align just so…”

Her gaze swept between them again, sharp and unreadable. “They fill each other.”

Azriel’s voice was low. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

Amren tilted her head. “It means you share more than thoughts. You share… knowing. Not just emotions or whispers. You don’t complete each other. You comprehend each other. There’s no hierarchy. No instinct to dominate or claim. It’s a conscious harmony. A chosen one.”

Y/N stared at her, mind gently spinning.

Azriel was quiet beside her, shadows curling slowly at his feet.

“But it’s rare,” Amren continued. “Rarer than any mating bond. Most fae don’t even believe in it anymore. Because it requires pain. It requires survival. And a willingness to connect that deeply without being compelled.”

She stepped back toward the door, her words falling like stones.

“So whatever this is between you,” she said, “don’t waste it trying to label it with something lesser.”

Then she turned and disappeared into the hallway, her scent fading with the soft click of the door.

Silence fell again.

Azriel looked over at Y/N.

Her eyes were distant, thoughtful.

“Do you believe her?” he asked gently, his mind brushing hers.

Y/N looked at him then, searching his face, the raw honesty in it, the care.

And she nodded once.

“I think we already knew. We just didn’t have a name for it.”

Azriel stepped closer, reaching for her hand again.

And this time, when their fingers laced together, it felt like confirmation. Not the beginning, not even the middle, but something ancient finally remembered.

The night air was cool, laced with starfall’s faint shimmer. They stood close, quiet in the wake of Amren’s revelation, both of them turning it over in their minds like a precious, fragile truth.

Y/N’s gaze lingered on the distant hills beyond Velaris, her expression thoughtful but unreadable. Then, finally, she turned to Azriel.

“What does this mean for us?” Her mental voice was soft, tentative. “This… thirren bond?”

Azriel looked at her for a long moment. His shadows were quiet now, as if they, too, were listening.

“I don’t know exactly,” he admitted, brushing his thumb gently across her knuckles. “But I know what it feels like.”

He searched her face, his voice a low murmur in her mind. “It feels like I’m not carrying the weight of the world alone anymore.”

A soft, trembling smile curved Y/N’s lips, and her eyes flicked down to their hands, still laced together.

“I feel that too,” she said. “But it’s not just the bond.”

Azriel’s head tilted, curiosity blooming in his features.

She looked up at him then, eyes lit with quiet fire.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she said. “Not because of the connection. But because of you. Because of how gentle you are with me. How patient. How you see me without needing me to explain every broken piece.”

Azriel stilled, just for a breath, shadows curling gently at his shoulders, like they’d heard something sacred.

Then he stepped a fraction closer, his voice brushing against her mind with warmth.

“I’m falling too.”

Her breath caught as he reached up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I’ve been trying not to rush,” he whispered aloud this time. “Trying to give you space, especially after you said you didn’t want to leave the village.”

Y/N gave a small, almost sheepish smile — the kind that crinkled the corner of her eyes and made something bloom in his chest.

“Maybe I changed my mind,” she teased softly. “Maybe I want to come to Velaris. To be closer to you.”

Azriel’s heart stumbled.

“You do?”

She nodded, her smile widening just a little.

Azriel let out a breath, more like a laugh, really, one of disbelief and gratitude mingled, before he cupped her cheek in one hand and leaned in.

This kiss was slower than the one beneath the stars earlier. Deeper. A quiet promise shared under falling starlight, between two people who had once lived in silence and shadow, and now found peace in each other’s presence.

When they parted, their foreheads resting together, Azriel whispered, “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“I think I do,” Y/N whispered back into his mind, her fingers brushing his cheek.

They stayed like that a while longer, wrapped in each other, beneath the gentle rain of stars, knowing that whatever this bond was, it was theirs to define.

Together.

[shouyuus]

popular host club host!keigo who's constantly the top 1 or 2 in his host club, so he's got a long roster of regulars, but one of them happens to be a good friend of yours who brings you in one day bc you're a bit naive and she thought it was about time you got out there in the world

host!keigo who is no stranger to shy little birdies, but still has a job to do, so he does his usual thing with your friend, asks about her part time job, compliments her new hairstyle, asks if she's gotten that one toner he recommended, before turning to you and offering you a smile and a wink, and is more charmed than a man in his profession should be at the way you turn red and refuse to meet his eyes

host!keigo who keeps it casual, wears relaxed, but chic street-style clothing and keeps his roots bleached well, but almost nothing else, except for the two slits of black he inks into his inner corners; says that they keep his eyes sharp so he can see all his favorite little birds at the club, of course. and suddenly, you can kinda see why your friend likes coming here so much -- the conversation is nice and he's never too pushy, but it's effortless, the way he talks about himself and gets everyone to talk about themselves as well.

host!keigo who's earnest when he asks you about your interest and feels himself smiling when you light up and talk about the things you love -- reading, painting, photography -- your friend cuts in that it's a shame you're too shy to ask him to be a model for one of your projects bc he does photograph really well, to which you blush even harder and keigo wonders briefly if there's something in the air or in the drinks today bc wow is he feeling just a tad lightheaded and from the looks of it so are you.

host!keigo who, when your friends goes to the bathroom, leans across the booth to hand you his card, just a black card with two bright red wings embossed onto the hard cardstock, runs a finger along the line of your cheek, tilts your chin up and says, "if you ever wanna come see me too... i'll make time for you, dove. all you gotta do is ask." but when u tell him, a little too honestly, that you can't afford him, he just looks at you with a little smirk and says "like i said, dove, i'll make time for you." and leaves it at that

host!keigo who texts you good morning and goodnight, who asks you if you've eaten, who, you're pretty sure, on his days off, pings you and asks you what you're doing. so you tell him that you don't have plans and he immediately calls to ask if you want to hang out -- he picks you up at the train station, wearing just a fitted black tee and some loose-fitted jeans, but even then, people are turning around, doing double takes, but he doesn't seem to notice, only grinning and jogging up to meet you, asking if there's anywhere you'd like to go

host!keigo who takes u to the aquarium and then to the park, where you do a few doodles in your notepad. he leans over to watch and even though your first instinct is to hide your work, you let him see it anyway -- something about him makes you want to trust him, and for once, you want to lean into that. he tells you that your art is beautiful, and you ask, before you can stop yourself, if you can draw him, "it'd be my honor, little bird."

host!keigo who makes you laugh by doing the most dramatic poses before leaning up against a tree and closing his eyes and you sketch him out, feeling your heart in your throat, but when you show him, he goes still and quiet, before asking if he can keep it. you nod and hand the sketch over, blushing bc he holds it like it's lost treasure, something he's spent his whole life looking for --

host!keigo who takes you to dollar karaoke, claps and laughs as you try to sing the current idol song, who is, unsurprisingly, fantastic at singing and tells you to pick your favorite song for him to serenade to you, who pays for all the drinks and never asks you to shell out a time; when you try to get the last round, he gently pushes your hand away and says "not today, little bird, i wanna do this so... let me."

host!keigo who, when you ask him if he does this with all his clients, bends down and flicks a bit of hair from your face before his eyes flicker down to your lips, says, "no... only the ones i really, really like."

host!keigo who offers to walk you back to the station but when you get there, he seems hesitant to say something -- when you gently ask about it, he lets out a tiny little laugh, shakes his head and says, "y'know it's weird -- all these years of being a host... i've never felt like this before but... you just -- god, how embarrassing, right? my whole job is to be good at talking to people and here i am, at a loss for words --" he pauses, runs a hand through his hair before turning back towards you with an earnest smile, "guess what im trying to say is... i spend all day tryna make people feel like they're special, like they're the only person in the entire world but... with you... it's the first time someone's made me feel like that and... i kinda wanna be selfish, be greedy and take you somewhere and keep you all to myself but..."

host!keigo who thinks he might be losing his mind when you smile up at him with that brilliant blush of yours and tell him that "if that's what you wanted... i wouldn't mind... if it were you."

[deadghosy]

Okay, I saw the part in the noob!reader post about Kirby. I love Kirby and would love a Kirby!reader in hazbin hotel. Like how he is cute but can consume worlds and everyone is just like *pikachu shocked face*, same with him being able to pull out random weapons from his abilities. I can imagine he got there from a new weird portal and meta knight is like “where is he NOW?”.

Kirby is a being of chaos and I love him ❤️

I ALSO LOVE KIRBBY I WAS A BIG KIRBY KIN💗💗 🦆

HAZBIN HOTEL X KIRBY! READER

prompt: you lost the sight of your best friend only to be somewhere completely different.

Meta knight was walking ahead of you as you picked up flowers with your cute smile. “Poyo!” You said smiling ready to show meta knight your flowers you picked up into a bouquet. 

When all of a sudden, you were getting pulled into a red portal as you screamed out to meta knight who seemed to be in his own world.

“POYO! POYO!” You then get sucked in as meta knight turns to see nothing. “Reader/Kirby?…..where is he NOW!” Meta knight exclaims, his accent thickening in worry as he runs around the area calling out your name.

Meta was basically that Brandon rogers meme when he lost his “child” 😭

You swirl in the portal to get thrown out and roll into the feet of a person. “Oh my! Are you okay sweetie?” The sweet voice says as she picks you up. Charlie looked worry seeing you dizzy. “Poyoo..” you said with a dazed out look from your trip of the portal.

Charlie took you in her hotel, getting you water and suited to rest as vaggie checks up. After 24 hours, they kept you as you became part of the hotel staff.

I headcannon you once accidentally swallowed Angel because you saw him as a regular spider. You literally transformed into his color palette before Charlie made you cough him up.

Angel was so traumatized 😭

I imagine you literally almost ending hell’s population by yourself cause you were hungry..you dead ass ran through the streets eating random shit. Thank goodness Lucifer picked you up and ran.

You once walked into Lucifer brain storming and he saw you…he immediately had a new idea for his duck creation. He made you stay in his room until Charlie said it was your bed time.

Vaggie always keep tabs on you so you don’t cause trouble around the pride ring and the hotel.

IMAGINE HOW YOU LITERALLY ATE A BUILDING…A FUCKING BUILDING AND HUSK WHO TOOK YOU FOR A ERRAND STROLL WAS LIKE

The egg boiz

Nahh cause you definitely had swallowed up the egg boiz to have a egg shell around you to hide in the egg shell like an ability.

Sir Pentious is always scared of the fact of you just eating him. But you don’t cause you literally get fed chips by the bar. So Pentious calms down and lets you have some time with him

Lucifer would probably make you inhale one of his rubber ducks so you can have a duck beak and wings just so he can chase you around with heart eyes excited that his hyperfixation became real

You have a duck hat and a duck pj set. ALSO WITH AN APPLE THEME SET WHICH IS FAMOUS IN MORNINGSTAR FAMILY ❤️❤️

I can see you always following Alastor like the egg boiz did in “scrambled eggs” 😭 except you just waddle beside him cutely

“Poyoooo… poyoooo..” you said softly as you tug on Alastor’s pant leg. Alastor looks down slightly entertained by your language and gesture for him to look at you.

“Well aren’t you an eager little thing…” alastor says picking you up and taking you to show Rosie his new found friend.

Husk once

STOP IT CAUSE WHAT IF YOU INHALED A KNIFE AND EQUIPPED IT ONLY YOU BE THAT FUCKIN MEME WITH KIRBY HOLDING A KNIFE😭😭

YOU WOULD STAB SOMEONE’S TOES AND KNEES YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE!!‼️

You definitely stood outside of the Vee’s tower holding the knife with a smile as Valentino looks so scared closing his curtains.

#justiceforangeldust

Angel dust loves you to the point he might adopt you as a sibling since you are pink like him.

Charlie and vaggie are the parents who maintain what you eat and sleep. Dead as you were gonna eat a butterfly when vaggie picked you up like “NOPE! NOT TODAY!” And took you inside for the rest of the time-

See I can personally just imagine that Kirby gif where Kirby eats the whole ass meal on the table. So imagine the crew’s face seeing you do that shit 😭

I can see you getting on fat nuggets and just start to ride fat nuggets like a cowboy 😭💗

Angel definitely recorded it as you just smile while fat nuggets runs around the hotel freely.

I headcannon you bought a bunch a flowers for the crew and the was so adorable how you just picked each flower matching the cast’s colors

Imagine you just watching a hell cartoon and Vox is like “kill them! Kill your entire family” as you jolted shocked and cry at the scary tv man

Niffty once fed you dust particles thinking it wouldn’t affect you…it did cause you coughed and got sick. Niffty cried, not thinking it would harm you as she sniffles giving you soup in your room.

Niffty was banned from making lunch for you😭

Alastor be trying to troll you into eating cannibal meat, like dead ass he would make you a sandwich with “turkey” meat. But you could already smell THE MUSSTTT 🤮

So he failed with that mission. But at least you like his radio station and his jazz music.

Charlie brought you to her meeting with the first man so she can feel comfortable as you are kinda like her service animal.

Adam actually would like you cause you love to eat endlessly and you are pick up size. This mf will literally pick you up with one hand and dribble you like a basketball or treat you like a damn football💀

“Hey lute! Go long!” “Yes sir!” Lute replies back as she moves back far. Adam launches you making you scream as lute flies up and catches you.

“GOALLLL! FUCK YEAH!” Lute says accidentally throwing you off of the cloud floor they were on. “LUTE WTF?!” Adam yells looking at you fall before a portal had eaten you up. “Well damnit…I was gonna miss that lil pink shit.” Adam says before walking away with lute close behind him

Meta knight is back at home was tweaking out as he literally sobs eating with a picture of you on the table. He misses you deeply as he stares at the photo before looking down. “My friennnd…” he says with a sniffle as he covers his face.

Good ending was that you plopped down on the table from the portal as meta immediately hugs you as you smiled happily, showing him the flowers. You guys ate dinner happily!

[natalievoncatte]

This was going to happen; it was inevitable the moment that Lena chose this course and began preparing to enact the plan. The timing was the mystery, the where and when. Thinking back on it later, she should have known better. Supergirl liked dramatic entrances, and she liked having Lena to herself when she talked. Surprisingly for someone who flew around in primary colors and smiled cheerfully for the cameras, she knew how to be discreet.

There was a double thud as the stacked heels of Supergirl’s boots touched down on the balcony behind her. Lena didn’t look up from her work. Not for the first time, she wondered if Supergirl used her super-senses to read other people. Lena’s heart sped up when she heard the landing and her breath caught, but she remained calm and smooth when she spoke.

“You may as well come in. We’re on the ninety-sixth floor. I don’t bother locking it.”

The glass door slid quietly on oiled plastic runners, and a gust of chilly night air rolled over Lena’s shoulders, causing her ponytail to slide from its place and dangle down her back. She’d changed earlier out of her power suit and exchanged her tight high ponytail for a loose, comfortable one. She was planning an an all-nighter.

“You should lock the door. There are dangerous people out there. Among other things.”

“If any of them have it in for me, they’re not going to be slowed down much by the balcony door, Supergirl.”

There was a soft sigh behind her. “We need to talk.”

Lena smirked. “Why is that? Are you worried my new car saving machine will pull all the cats out of the trees and out you out of work? I’m still working out all the kinks.”

“Miss Luthor…”

“Speaking of kinks, maybe you could help me out. I’ve got a terrible crick in my neck and could use a super-neck rub.”

“Miss Luthor,”

“Or if you’re not busy, you could run and grab us some takeout. I’m thinking Thai, how about you?”

“Lena!”

Sighing, she turned around, tearing her attention from her work. Supergirl had her arms folded, displaying those impressive muscles of hers, and was looking at Lena with an expression of stern concern, something soft and a little worried in her eyes.

“What’s the occasion, then? Let me guess, someone wants to assassinate me.”

Supergirl sighed and let her arms fall. “You need to take this seriously. Right now, I’m the only friend you’ve got.”

“And why is that?”

Supergirl edged closer, her cape swirling slightly behind her. She put a hand on Lena’s desk and leaned over her.

“Because you’re been buying up every ounce of Kryptonite you can find.”

Her pulse began to race and she fought the urge to sink back from the piercing blue eyes that stared into hers.

“That’s not possible. Your cousin destroyed it all.”

“Not all of it,” said Supergirl. “The DEO keeps some, and there’s some floating around on the black market, usually mistaken for something else.”

“What makes you think that I didn’t just stumble across some? I inherited an extensive collection of art and sculpture, Supergirl, and I’m always adding to it. Ask Kara Danvers. I’m going to display the bulk of the family collection in a new wing at the city museum.”

“Because the DEO identified and tracked dozens of pieces, including the ones you bought,” Supergirl said, quietly. “It’s a way for us to identify threats and see who’s trafficking in it. You moved them through shell companies and had them smuggled through customs. You’re hiding something.”

Lena pushed to her feet, indignant, leaning into the do confrontation. She stabbed a manicured nail into the center of Supergirl’s chest, right into her big S.

“So now you come storming into my office making accusations?”

Supergirl planted her fists on her hips and stood over Lena, glaring down at her.

“I’m on your side. I’m the only one keeping the DEO from arresting you. I want to believe that there’s a benign reason for this, Lena. But you have to give me one. People think you’re a threat.”

Lena stared back at her, studying her features, her expression.

“It won’t do any good to tell you. Your superiors won’t believe me. They’ve been trying to entrap me ever since I took over the company.”

“They’re not my superiors,” Kara snapped. “I work with them. They have resources and support I need.”

Lena crossed her arms and cocked her head. “They also have Kryptonite. You just admitted that.”

“Lena,” Supergirl snapped.

Quickly, she grabbed a random page from her notes and scribbled, are they listening?

Supergirl looked at it briefly, then at Lena, weighing her options.

Then she nodded.

Lena scrawled on the sheet.

I’m making a cure.

Supergirl started, flinching as she read the note. She blinked almost comically.

Can we talk without anyone listening in? Lena wrote.

Supergirl nodded, taking the paper. She slipped the pen out of Lena’s grasp and scrawled, give me five minutes.

“Fine,” said Lena. “Tell your people they can call a judge. I’m sure they’ll have all the proper papers and warrants and court orders and it will all be nice and legal.”

“I don’t want it to be this way,” said Supergirl. “I want to work together with you. I believe in you, Lena.”

“You have a hell of a way of showing it.”

Supergirl huffed, turned, and headed for the balcony, taking off with such force that Lena stumbled back a few steps.

Lena waited, finally moving towards the door to close it, when a folded paper airplane sailed through the opening and came to rest on her desk. She closed the balcony door and grabbed the paper, quickly unfolding it.

They can track my suit. Meet me at the Big Belly on 49th. Leave your phone. Walk. Don’t worry about your safety, I’ll be watching. I’ll be in civilian clothes.

Lena crumpled the note in her pocket. The place Suoergirl meant was a half an hour walk, and Lena was more than a little nervous about walking it at night. So, she grabbed her .357 from her desk drawer and stuffed it in the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie, and took her private elevator to the ground floor.

When she walked up on the Big Belly, it was of course closed, dark inside with the chairs up on the tables. Lena tensed when she saw a figure approaching in the dark, much like she was, in joggers and a hoodie.

She relaxed when she saw Kara Danvers hiding in that hood. When they crossed paths, Lena stopped and began walking beside her.

“Supergirl said she would meet me herself,” said Lena. “I’m kind of surprised she sent you, Kara.”

“Keep your voice down,” Kara said, softly. “Follow me.”

Kara led her on a trek through downtown, making Lena rather nervous. This part of the city emptied out after hours and it was close to three in the morning, and they were walking alone on empty streets, finally turning off down an alley between two seemingly random buildings.

There, Kara stopped, and sighed.

“Can you really do it? Can you cure Kryptonite poisoning?”

“Yes,” Lena said, excited. “I think I can. I’m very close. I needed the samples I procured so that I could perfect the process.”

Kara’s shoulders hitched a little. She faced away from Lena, and took a step towards the brick wall in front of her.

“They have a device that your brother created. It can disperse Kryptonite through the entire atmosphere in a few minutes.”

“I’m familiar with it.”

“It’s how they control me. I don’t know where they keep it, only that they have it. If I step out of line, they’ll poison the atmosphere and kill me.”

“Kill you? Kara what are you talking about? You’re not…”

“I told you I’d meet you in civilian clothes. When I wrote the note in your office.”

Lena stumbled back a step, trying to process what she just heard. Kara was talking as if…

She turned around, facing Lena, and stood to her full height, removing her glasses without sweeping back her hood, and met Lena’s gaze.

“But… you’re…”

“Hush,” Kara said, softly. “I’ll explain everything. Right now we need to move and move fast, before they figure out what I’m up to. How fast can you finish your cure?”

“I need a few days and some things from my lab.”

Kara brought her wrist up and spoke into a hidden radio. “Alex, get ready to move. We’ll need to get to Lena’s lab before the DEO does.”

Lena blinked a few times. What the hell was going on?

“I need to get you someplace safe, then I’ll get you up to speed,” said Kara. “Will you come with me?”

Lena’s heart pounded in her chest. “Where?”

“Safety. I promise, I’ll keep you safe. You’re too dangerous to the DEO, Lena. They’re going to move on you, and I had to beg to give you a chance. Tomorrow someone is going to come make you an offer you can’t refuse, and I’m not going to let that happen.”

Lena nodded.

“Alright then. I’m with you. Let’s go.”

Kara nodded.

“Good. Lena Luthor, welcome to the Justice League.”

I had a weird urge to play with the idea of a world where the DEO are a black ops unit that controls Supergirl with the threat of Kryptonite and Lena helps her take them down and save the world. Of course Kara has to be all dramatic about naming the resistance movement.

[summerforg]

Embracing my inner cringe once again

drew my isat oc.. she so cutesy :3

Some info about her below, not super thought out or anything just some fun lil ideas

-she’s a paper type!

-she was born on the island north of vauguard but moved to a beach house in bambouche with her mother a few years before it was forgotten

- she was around 9 years old when the island was forgotten

-a few years later after losing her mind a bit her mom disappeared (yeah no she walked into the sea..)

-not sure how but as teens she and nille meet and become friends and help each other out :)

-they also have matching shell necklaces!

-she is interested in studying bodycraft, specifically more obscure stuff like trying to see if you could use traits from animal anatomy in bodycraft.

-her lil ear wings are from an accidental wish. (They are there to be cute who cares if it makes sense!)

-she has a hat nille gave her to hide them when she goes out, but they blend in with her hair pretty well too.

-she has a star shaped scar on her left hand, she doesn’t remember where it came from (most of the time.)

-sometimes she just looks out across the sea, sometimes for hours and hours.

-Her house is full of the lost island memorabilia

-I think she would have a little change god figure in her home somewhere

-the cardigan she wears was her mothers, it has some sort of cooling craft crafted into it

-she does not like fish or any other seafood (aka I need to project my dislike for fish onto every oc of mine ever.)

-I’ve realized her hair shape kindaaa looks like siffrins, that was not intentional they are not related 🙏

I hope some of this made sense all of this is very self indulgent!! Wahoo!

[daydreaming-nerd]

Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 7

Young Love and Old Money Masterlist

AN: Damn we on part 7? That happened fast. I just realized that this series is going to be longer than I thought. ALSO, highly suggest clicking on the link to see the readers dress bc it adds to the plot and it was hard to desribe lol.

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Sexism, heavier SA in this one again, a little bit of exhibitionism, jealously, Smut 

Word Count: 6,009

“If you don’t stop right now Rhys is going to kill you for being late!” I giggle watching Cassian pepper kisses all over my neck through the floor-length mirror. I had simply asked him to button up the back of my dress for me but now he couldn’t keep his hands off me.  

“Rhys can wait,” Cassian smirks nibbling under my ear, the scruff of his morning beard tickling my skin. 

“I’m sure he can, but it might seem a little suspicious that you’re late considering you’re the most punctual person I know,” I smile running a hand through his hair. 

Cassian doesn’t stop pressing loving kisses all over my shoulders and neck. His hands rubbed soothing circles on my hips. His strong chest behind me kept me upright as I watched him ravishing me in the floor-length mirror. 

“Cass,” I protested, turning in his arms knowing if I didn’t my newly buttoned dress would be unbuttoned and on his bedroom floor in an instant. 

“Alright, alright,” he laughed as I threw my arms over his shoulders to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. 

“I promise you can kiss me all you want later,” I laughed, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“What about anywhere I want?” he grins, kissing me again.

“Hmmm, maybe,” I tease, tilting my head to the side. Cassian’s hands gripped my waist tighter. 

“C’mon princess don’t make me beg,” he said lowly, pressing a kiss to the shell of my ear. 

I couldn’t help but let out a small giggle to hide the change in my heart rate, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you on your knees general.” I tease. 

“You know I’d crawl to your bed if I had to, princess,” he teased back and the air in the room had become thick and warm.  

I push away from him a little, “Cass stop I know what you’re trying to do! Go talk to Rhys before he comes up here to see what’s taking so long!” I laugh. 

“Fine, fine,” he shakes his head and follows me out of his room into the hallway. 

“What does he want to talk to you about anyways?” I ask as we walk idly towards the kitchen. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “Probably just catching up on the Illyrian camps I visited with Az earlier.” 

“Well remember. Nothing about you and I, as far as he’s concerned Eris and I are counting down the days until the wedding.” I remind him as we round the corner to the kitchen where Azriel sips his morning coffee. 

“Hello lovebirds,” Azriel mused, not looking up from his book. 

“Hello Az,” I smiled at the shadowsinger. 

“I promise to paint a lovely picture of newly engaged bliss, even though I enjoy it,” Cassian assures me as we stop at the door to the balcony. 

“Thank you,” I say cupping his cheek. “Now go before Rhys loses his mind,” I say pushing him out the door. 

“Ah ah ah not without one of these,” he smirks, pulling me in by my waist for a kiss. Gods I would never get tired of kissing this male. 

Without another word, Cassian pulled away and flashed me a charming smile before flaring his wings and taking off into the air. These past few days I had grown to see a new side to the Illyrian that I had never known before. For one, I had never known him to be so sweet and loving and two, I had never seen the male smile so much. Not that I could complain, he did have one of the most dashing smiles I’d ever seen.  

“You two are adorable but you make me sick,” Azriel laughed from the kitchen table beside me. I turned my head to find him watching me intently. He tried to mask his face in disgust, but the love in his eyes was a dead giveaway. 

“There will be loads of women fawning over your pretty face tonight tonight.” I teased ruffling up his hair. “And you’re a wonderful dancer. I’m sure you’ll find your person soon.” I continue waltzing towards the library.

“So you think I’m pretty?” Azriel teases taking a bite of an apple. 

I simply rolled my eyes and shook my head as I exited the room. 

Cassian’s pov: 

“Cass please sit down,” Rhysand says motioning toward the plush chair in his study, one large enough to accommodate wings of course. 

I had known the bastard for hundreds of years and never once had I been afraid of him. But I hadn’t spoken to him since everything happened with me and y/n. I had made sure to keep my mental shields up but I couldn’t stop the irrational fear that Rhys’ next words were going to be, “Are you fucking my little sister?” As he poured us each a glass of whiskey I couldn’t help but feel a bead of sweat dripping down my back. 

“I hear you’ve been keeping y/n satisfied,” Rhys drawled, handing me a glass. 

Oh shit

“At least that’s what Azriel said the other day when I asked him how you guys were doing with going back and forth to the Autumn Court all the time.” Rhys cocked an eyebrow at my blank expression as I grabbed the glass of whiskey from his hand and sipped it eagerly. 

Azriel that motherfucker. I could practically see his smug face as he told Rhys about how “satisfied” I was keeping his little sister. I would be thoroughly kicking his ass today at training. 

“Yeah I mean it’s a pretty simple task taking her back and forth.” I shrug trying to shake whatever tension I had from my shoulders. “But she seems to have no quarrel with me, except for one time when I messed up her hair because I flew too fast but that’s about it.” I smile remembering the cute angry look on her face that went along with her messed-up updo. 

“Ever the little princess,” Rhys rolled his eyes and relaxed into his chair. “Is she happy with Eris?” 

I tried to look collected as Rhys asked the question I had been dreading. The entire flight here I considered telling him everything. I thought that maybe he could help her, or at least talk to Beron. But then I thought about how I would have to explain why I cared so much, and Rhys would be much less inclined to help if he knew I was fucking his little sister. Hell if y/n ever did figure this out would Rhys even allow me to be with her? I was a bastard after all.  

Then of course there was y/n. She would never forgive me for betraying her trust, and I wasn’t willing to lose it. More importantly, I thought back to what she said the day that Eris first tried to take advantage of her. 

Cassian please, don’t take my choices away from me…

Cauldron how those words had struck me like lightning when she said them. The poor girl had never been given free will to make her own choices until recently. First, she was closed off from the world because of her beauty, then she was under the mountain. Now she was engaged to Eris and I’d rather die than be another person who tried to control her. 

“She seems to be,” I reply to Rhys. “I mean she did agree to marry him.” 

Lies 

Lies 

Lies

“And Eris? Will he be a suitable husband for her? I’ve heard stories of him, some good, some bad. I was hesitant at first to let him near her till I remembered what others have said about me.” he says with a hint of sadness. “I thought I’d give him a chance, in hopes that Feyre will give me one someday.” 

My heart broke for my brother, “I’m sure she will brother,” I say warmly. “But Eris seems quite smitten with y/n. He’s already sent her a large trove of dresses and jewels.” 

Not entirely a lie.

“I hope you’re right Cass,” Rhys said with a sad smile. “But I’m glad my sister is happy. After all she’s endured she deserves it. Will you be joining us tonight?” he asks, referring to the engagement ball. 

“Have you ever known me to pass up free drinks and beautiful women?” I chide leaning back in my own chair.

“I suppose not,” Rhys laughed, slamming back his whiskey. 

y/n’s pov: 

Cauldron boil me.

That was the only thought that raced through my head as I stared at myself in the floor-length mirror. For once my lady's maids didn’t get a chance to select the perfect dress for me to wear tonight, as Eris had specifically labeled a dress in the trove he sent me. The dress I now wore. 

The fabric itself was beautiful, swaths of chrome of molten gold. It draped and cascaded down my body perfectly, the only problem with the fabric was that there wasn’t enough of it. The high slit and the low back left little to the imagination. Even the top of the dress was skimpy, with only three thin pieces of fabric holding the garment together. 

As I exited my bedroom to the foyer to meet Cassian I could only hope that the fireplaces would be roaring on both ends of the vast ballroom tonight as I was already freezing. I find Cassian already waiting for me (per usual), in a night court black jacket that has him looking like pure sex. The only color adorning him is the two red siphons on his hands. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” he gawks at my dress, eyes raking up and down my nearly bare body. 

“What don't you like it?” I tease doing a spin for him. 

His arms pull me close to him, hands wandering all over my exposed skin. The familiar touch of his hands soothes the goosebumps on my too-cold skin as I feel myself leaning into him. 

“That’s what he’s making you wear?” he scrutinizes, looking me up and down again. 

“Unfortunately yes,” I sigh looking down at the dress myself. Gods I hated this. 

“That bastard’s going to have his hands all over you all night,” he grits, turning his head to the side like he doesn’t want me to see the simmering in his eyes. 

I reach up to cup his face turning his gaze back to mine, “Cass I know that this isn’t easy. If the roles were reversed the female would be dead by now,” I laugh trying to ease the mood. “If you don’t want to come tonight I’ll understand.” 

“No, I’m not leaving you to do this on your own,” he says, placing a hand over my own that rests on his cheek. 

“Cass-” 

“I’m going y/n,” he assures me. 

Secretly and selfishly I was glad he was coming. I would never make him do such a thing. Especially knowing how Eris is going to be. But there was a comfort in knowing that he would be present. A comfort in knowing that at the slightest hint of a scared glance, he would likely burn down the whole court for me. 

“Cassian?” I whisper. 

“Yes?” he asked. 

“Kiss me,” I say, referencing our first kiss, hoping it would bring a smile to his face. 

“With pleasure,” he smiled before leaning in for a kiss. 

I took every moment and committed it to memory knowing that soon it would be Eris’ lips instead, and they wouldn’t be as tender and sweet. Soon it would be Eris’ hands on me, and they wouldn’t be as warm and strong. I savored every taste of Cassian I got, somehow in that moment falling even deeper in love with him. Cassian kisses me like I’m the air he breathes. He kisses me like every female dreams of being kissed and gods I’ll never get enough. 

“When we get home,” I whisper in his ear. “I want you to rip this dress off me and fuck me on every single surface in this gods forsaken house.” 

“Be careful princess. You don’t want me at attention in public.” Cassian purs in my ear holding me closer. 

“Maybe I do,” I smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw. 

“Cruel, wicked female.”

Unlike the last ball when my brother and I arrive, we are one of the first people there, as the ball is being thrown in Eris and I’s honor. I spend the first hour or so making polite conversation until the rest of the crowd shows up. Thankfully the second they do the dancing is in full swing giving me ample time to converse with others as Eris sits on a dias at the end of the room. A place normally reserved for the High Lord alone, but it seems Beron wants to show off this union.

“She’s not here again,” I say to my brother. 

Rhys was one of the first people to dance with me tonight and I had never accepted an invitation so happily, well besides Cassian. When my father taught me to waltz Rhys was always there to help me. We must’ve spent hours dancing together while growing up. Dancing with him now was like living out the old days I so dearly wished for. 

“How do you know?” Rhys asked me as he spun me around once more. 

“I checked the guest list,” I say sadly. “It sounds like she and Tamlin never even leave his mansion.”

“Oh,” my brother says sadly, halting his search for the infamous cursebreaker. 

“You should call upon your bargain Rhys. Give her time to get to know you,” I tell him as he lifts me slightly and resumes the dance in time with the others. 

“I don’t want to force her to love me,” he admits sadly. 

I can’t help but feel my heartbreak. Sure Rhys wasn’t always the best at first impressions given his reputation, but he was an amazing brother and an amazing male. “Rhys please, she’s your mate. Maybe if she meets me I can help her see how amazing you are,” I say hopefully. 

“If Tamlin is what makes her happy I won’t stand in her way,” he explains to me and it’s like a punch to the gut. Before I can say anything to ease his pain a voice cuts in from beside me. 

“Mind if I cut in?” Azriel asks politely. 

“Not at all brother, just don’t step on my dear sister's toes,” Rhysand jests, passing my hand to Azriel’s.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Azriel smiles before leading me up into a waltz.

“What no crowds of women falling all over you?” I tease him as he gracefully moves around the dancefloor. 

“I’m actually using you to get away from a particularly nosey one,” he nods his head to a giddy blonde in the corner. She looks far too young for him and way too energetic to catch Az’s interest and I can’t help but laugh. 

“Glad to be doing the royal duty of helping my citizens,” I laugh as he spins me in a circle. 

“If you really want to help you could give me a kiss,” he tilts his head so his cheek is on full display for me. 

“Who would come after you first? Eris, Cassian, or my brother?” I roll my eyes. 

“Don’t forget Helion, he's here too,” Azriel laughs and sure enough, out of the corner of my eyes, I can see the High Lord of Day. 

“By the cauldron, I’ll never know peace,” I sigh as Az picks me up and twirls me around.

Even though it was the same ballroom as last time this one felt smaller. Every move I made felt more and more observed and scrutinized. On one end I had Eris sitting on a dias watching me like I was a pet he had let off its leash. On the other side stood a very grumpy and brooding Cassian who wouldn’t take his eyes off me and Eris, like he was waiting for the prince to make one wrong move. Never mind the rest of the guests who gawked at my dress or the ginormous ring on my finger.

“Eris is looking at me like he’s about to have me incinerated,” Azriel laughs in my ear. 

I can’t help but roll my eyes, on the next spin I see the prince doing just that. “That’s his way of saying he wants me back.” I sigh. 

“You want me to dance us away from him?” Az asks sweetly and quietly. 

“No, no I’ve already been avoiding him for far too long. He’ll come down here himself in a moment,” I say as the music stops and I bow to Az. 

“Good luck then princess,” he bows to me before he saunters off to where Cassain sits gripping a goblet of wine tighter than he ought to.

Like I’m either a blessing sent from above or a curse from below the crowds parts for me as I make my ebay towards Eris. The men gawk and lick their lips, the women gossip and whisper to one another. Once again I felt like a painting displayed at a museum, I was beginning to hate balls. 

“Have I told you how delicious you look in gold, my pet?” Eris says as I take my place standing next to his chair.  

“At least a dozen times tonight,” I sigh, snatching a glass of wine off a silver platter. 

“Come here,” Eris says, patting his lap and I know better than to disobey, not when all of Prythian is watching us. 

“What, I don't get to have my own throne?” I grumble, adjusting my dress from where I sit on his lap. The damned thing is one gust of wind away from exposing me to the whole room. 

“Wall ornament my dear, wall ornament,” he reminds me, lips trailing down my neck. “And how beautiful you look perched on my lap,” he smirks. 

“Yes and I’m one gust of wind away from flashing the whole room,” I grit, adjusting the dress once more. 

“Good, let them see what I get to indulge in,” he grins, lifting my goblet to his own lips. The overwhelming urge to spill the liquid all over his pressed jacket is strong but lord knows what would happen next. 

“Prince Eris,” mused a female voice drawing both of our attention. “I came to offer my congratulations to you and your future wife.” 

The woman standing before me was nothing short of beautiful. Her skin is fair and covered in freckles across her nose and cheeks. Eyes the color of the evergreen trees found in the winter court. Her hair is unbound and the deep auburn. She looked at Eris with a certain coldness and in that moment I realized that they might have been lovers at one point in time. Her eyes flitted to mine and my blood ran cold. She looked at me like I had taken her future away. I suppose I had. If Eris had any feelings for her he certainly didn’t show it.

“Thank you for your well wishes Lady Adarna. We hope to see you at the wedding next week,” he chided leaning back in his chair once more. 

The woman simply bowed and waltzed away. I mentally hoped she wouldn’t go near Cassian. Not that I didn’t trust him, but because I didn’t trust her for one moment.

As she scurried off to join a large group of lords and ladies conversing I watched as Eris’ eyes trailed her entire backside. His lips twitched up as if recalling a fond memory. Now was the perfect time to execute my backup plan. 

“She seemed angry to see me on your lap,” I muse, taking another sip of my wine. 

“So is every male in this room. You should be used to it by now.” he kissed my shoulder. 

“You fucked that woman didn’t you?” I turn my head to him letting him see the false anger in my eyes. I had to sell it. 

“Many times my pet,” he smiled proudly. “She used to beg me to come to her bed.”  

I scoff at his words, it was too hard to believe that any woman would beg to warm Eris’ bed.

“And you're ready for monogamy?” I raise an eyebrow at him, my question more like a test. Eris had been so in lust with me had forgotten about the other women he once bedded. Surely the idea of monogamy wasn’t one he relished, he needed a reminder. The very concept could be the only thing to stop the wedding. 

“Who said anything about monogamy?” he laughed while taking a sip of his wine. “I’m sure I’ll be insatiable after I deflower your tight cunt, but once you’re with child I’ll be left to my own devices. Someone will have to satisfy my needs,” he said like it was common knowledge. 

By the fucking cauldron this man was insane. But in his words, I saw an opening I never thought of. Maybe I didn’t need to call off the wedding, maybe I just needed to ensure I could sneak out the back door so to say when I needed to. 

“And what about me? Will I be allowed other partners?” I muse playing with the hair at the nape of his neck like it might soften him up. 

Eris barks out a hearty laugh and I already know I’ve lost this fight as his hand trails up my thigh. The fabric of my dress starts to shift and I find myself shifting around to fix it once more. 

“Of course not wife, I won’t have your cunt defiled by any other male,” He pressed a kiss to my neck. “You are purely mine, to taste, to fuck, to impregnate all I want.” 

“I’m not your wife yet,” I grumble trying to stand, but his hand on my front flattens and I’m pulled down onto his lap once more.

 My stomach pits as I feel what prods into my backside. He’s undeniably hard and my eyes search for Cassian. I have no doubt that Eris would fuck me right here on this dias just to prove a point to everyone in attendance. I search and search, but Cassian is nowhere to be found.  

“Oh really? Because you’re on my lap, on my throne and you’re wearing my ring,” He purrs lowly so only I can feel his hand dipping under my dress. “And I’m pretty sure you’ve cum on my fingers. So yes I will call you my wife preemptively because that’s what you are ‘Jewel of Prythian’, mine.” 

His hand cups my sex and my breath hitches in my throat. Tears prick my eyes and I put on a cold face. 

I will not cry.

I will not cry. 

I will not cry. 

I feel a finger slip through my folds and when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for his finger slips inside me. My eyes search the crowd to see if anyone is paying attention, but thankfully they are all drunk and lost in conversation or dancing. That is until my eyes land on Cassian’s. I could throw up from the embarrassment of it all. 

Eris quickly retracted his finger, bringing it to his lips and sucking it. 

“Good girl. You didn’t fight this time.” he muses, brushing a hand down my cheek. 

I take the quickest route out, “I think I see Viviane, she wants to speak to me,” I say quickly, standing from his lap. 

“Have fun pet,” Eris smirks, smacking my backside before I saunter down the steps making a beeline for Kallias and Viviane. 

My mind is a mess of a million different voices. Eris calling me his broodmare, Cassian begging me to end all this, the voice of my brother sacrificing himself for me, the sound of the children of Velaris playing in the streets. All of it is like a perfect storm. I could erupt at any moment and I don’t think anyone here would care unless my makeup smeared and ruined the image of “The Jewel” 

Like a magnet, my eyes flit up from my feet rushing through the crowd to find that hazel gaze that always brought me home. 

Cassian was making a beeline towards me. No, not towards me, to my right.

I passed him without so much as a word but as if some strange instinct kicked in, I reached out a hand and felt him do the same. Our fingers grazed each other where no one could see. His touch held a thousand words. 

I am here. I am with you. You are not alone. I love you.

My breathing calmed, my heart rate slowed, and the voices in my head quieted down to the point where all I heard was the white noise of those around me.  

And I was thankful, so thankful, for that simple touch that brought me home.

Cassian’s pov: 

I could kill him. 

I could fucking kill him for touching my mate that way. Cleave his head from his body. Castrate him. Rip him limb from limb and my rage still wouldn’t be sated. 

The look on her face as his hand dipped between her legs is one I wouldn't soon forget. She was so scared, so helpless and I just let it happen.

I marched towards the other end of the ballroom after grazing her hand in mine. I just needed to feel her once. Just needed to remember that she was mine. 

I pushed past the large swaths of curtains lining the room to where I knew there was a door that led to the cool night air outside. I just needed air. I needed to forget. 

y/n’s pov: 

“Well I hope to see you and your new husband visiting us in the winter court soon,” Viviane said, embracing me fondly.  

“And tell that brother of yours that I want to have a drink with him soon,” Kallias smiled putting a hand on my shoulder. 

“I’ll be sure to do both,” I smile warmly. 

While under the mountain, Kallias was one of the people who looked out for me. His relationship with my brother was strong, and since Rhys couldn’t ever be with me Kallias had stepped in as one of my protectors. I had only met Viviane once since Kallias shielded her from the horrors under the mountain, but her warm soul always spoke to me. I was happy to call the mates my friends. 

“I’ll do just that,” I smile, backing away from the High Lord and Lady. 

My eyes flit up to that cursed dias, looking for any sign of Eris’ gaze. Instead, I found him lounging about talking to one of the men who sexualized me at the last ball. My skin prickled at the memory. Their voices calling through my head as I made my way towards the edge of the room scouring the dancehall for another drink. 

Suddenly a hand gripped my exposed arm and pulled me behind the swaths of large fabric that lined the room. My back hit one of the many pillars as another hand was placed over my mouth to keep me from screaming, which I desperately wanted to do until I saw that beautiful shade of hazel that warmed my very bones. 

“Shh, it’s okay it’s just me,” Cassian whispered, releasing his hand that covered up over half of my face. 

“Oh Cassian,” I breathed, placing my hands on either cheek. The stubble from this morning mixed with the warmth of him setting my very soul on fire. 

“Are you okay?” he breathed pulling me into his chest, like he just needed to have me in his arms if only for a moment. 

“Yes, yes I’m fine,” I said frantically as I inhaled his scent. 

“He touched you,” Cassian glowered and I pulled my head back to meet his simmering eyes. 

My heart shattered right there at the pain within them. He had seen everything. Seen Eris’ hand roam where it shouldn't have, seen him bring that hand to his mouth. Seen him do this in front of everyone and I had instructed the general not to even flinch. It was cruel, I was crueler than even the prince of Autumn himself, 

“I’m sorry Cassian, I’m so so sorry,” I pleaded, brushing a hair out of his face that had escaped the bundle at the nape of his neck. “I’m yours Cassian, I’m yours.”  

“Y/n I-” 

“My heart,” I cut him off, placing his rough hand over the center of my too-exposed chest. “My heart belongs to you Cass.” 

In an instant his hands found my waist, pulling me towards him as his frame backed me into the marble pillar. His lips on mine in a fiery need. I met him touch for touch as I pulled the lapels of his jacket towards me, needing to feel every inch of him on me. Even more than that I needed him to erase every single fingerprint Eris had left on me. 

Cassian. 

My Cassian.

His hands brushed over the vast expanse of my exposed skin leaving a trail of warmth wherever they went. I had spent the night so freezing cold from my lack of coverage that the heat of his body against mine felt so delicious. 

His tongue parted my mouth and I felt every inch of him reclaiming me. My hands found that head of hair that I so often found myself gripping as he licked my most sensitive areas. My mind raced to last night where he spent a solid hour coaxing orgasm after orgasm from me. 

A woman laughed loudly from the other side of the curtain pulling both Cassian and I’s heads away from one another. We looked to see if the curtain had been pulled back but found nothing.

My core ground down on the bulge in his pants. Oh gods I needed him. I needed him now. 

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “Tell me to leave and wait till we get home.” 

“No,” I rasped pulling him down to my lips once more. 

I needed him now. Needed to feel all of him, needed to remember that no matter what Eris said or did to me he could never own me. He could own my body, sure. But my heart? My soul? The very essence of me? All of it belonged to Cassian. So much so that it consumed me. 

Cassian’s large hands reached beneath my thighs hoisting me up and pressing me further into the cold marble pillar. It didn’t take much for my dress to part for him exposing my core. My hands went to the ties of his pants frantically pulling them down until he sprang free. 

“Cassian, I need you,” I pleaded with him. 

“Shh I’m coming baby,” he assured me, pumping his cock a few times. 

The woman outside the curtain laughed again but this time neither of us looked to see if she had seen us. Let them see. I thought to myself. At this moment I was beyond caring about who was engaged to and who I wasn’t. Who was a prince and who was a bastard. Cassian had all of me, that's all that mattered. 

Cassian slid home filling me to the brim so harshly that I gasped. A calloused hand flew over my mouth and my eyes met his. His intense stare watching me take every luxurious inch of him could’ve been enough to make me cum right then and there. 

“Shh princess, I don’t like sharing.” he mused, thrusting into me even harder.

His hand fell from my mouth to brace against the pillar behind me as the other arm kept me upright. Every stroke threatened to have me screaming in pleasure. Calling out just how in love with this man I really was. But there were at least a couple hundred people on the other side of that thick curtain and though I hated to admit it, the game we were currently playing thrilled me to my core. 

“Fucking mine,” Cassian gritted through his teeth, thrusting harder for emphasis. This wasn’t just about releasing the tension for both of us. Oh no. This was my general reclaiming what was his, and cauldron if he didn’t have a hand holding me up I would’ve been weak at the knees. 

“All yours Cass,” I mumbled into his mouth as I pressed my lips into his, my fingers digging into the material of his jacket. 

“I love you y/n,” he breathed. “So fucking much.” 

“I love you too Cassian,” I smiled, feeling myself clench around him, as the knot in me was beginning to let go. 

“Fuck,” he hissed in my ear, burying his head in my shoulder. 

It was enough to have me cumming around his cock. My hand flew to my own mouth to stifle the loud moan my body involuntarily let out. My orgasm triggered Cassian's as he let out a smothered low groan burying himself deep inside me

As I tried my best to catch my breath Cassian pulled his head from my shoulder. I looked at his strained face and his messed up hair and began meticulously brushing every strand back into place. His eyes met mine and I couldn’t help but laugh. 

“We did not just do that,” I giggled brushing his hair into submission. 

“I think we did princess,” he laughed looking down to where he was still seated inside me. “I’m sorry I got a little jealous there.” 

“Don’t be sorry, it was kinda hot.” I smile, running a hand down his cheek.

“Yeah?” he smirked, leaning in for another kiss.

“You two are fucking idiots!” Azriel hissed low coming from around the corner. 

Our heads turned immediately to find a very worried Azirel shrouded in his shadows. Cassian set me down and shielded my body with his growling at Az as he tucked himself back into his pants. 

“A warning would have been nice brother,” Cassian grumbled, making sure I was decent before stepping to the side. 

“You’re lucky my shadows found you before anyone else did,” Azriel argued. “Eris is looking for her,” he says nodding towards me. 

“Shit,” I curse, adjusting my dress and stepping towards the curtain. 

Cassian’s hand finds mine and pulls me back. My eyes snap to him and where there was once lust is now a pleading gaze that has tears threatening to spill from my own eyes. 

“Please don’t go to him, I can’t bear it any longer,” he begs me and gods does it shatter me to my core. 

“I have to Cass,” I say adjusting his jacket so it’s straight.

“Tell him you're ill and then come back to me,” he pleads. “Then we can go home.”

I know deep down that I shouldn't be leaving this early. It had only been an hour or two since the guests arrived and I hadn’t even spoken to Helion. But Cassian looked so broken. So broken and so hurt. I couldn’t put him through anymore tonight, and I wanted nothing more than for him to take me in his arms and tell me everything would be okay.

“Alright,” I say assuringly, squeezing his large hand. I take one look at Cassian and then at Azriel who looks worried as hell, like if I didn’t leave right this moment we would all be found out. 

So I reluctantly pulled my hand from his and parted the curtain that concealed us. Thankful for the shadows Azirel lent me, I was able to assimilate back into the crowd seamlessly. But as I made my way towards the dias where Eris sat impatiently I swore I could feel Cassian’s anger behind me and it threatened to bring down the room around us. 

Part 8

Taglist: @crystalferret202 , @nickishadow139 ,  @graceshifts , @writeroutoftime , @heyyitsnat21,  @stinkinstuffie , @lilah-asteria , @12358 , @fxckmiup, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @mybestfriendmademe, @anxious-study, @bxm-1012 , @mal-adaptive-dreams ,  @sh4nn , @talesofadragon , 

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always 

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen <…previous ... next…>

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

TWENTY.

Next Day…

You woke up with the worst hangover known to mankind. And you have no idea how you ended back in your room or whose shirt you’re wearing.

You threw yourself back into the mattress of your bed, trying so hard to remember what happened last night.

You remember drinking… A lot.

And there was a bowl with folded papers…

Images… Hold on… Memories of you… Suguru… Satoru… Kento….

“Fuck,” you laid in your bed defeated, until you remembered the culprit — Mei Mei. You closed your eyes, trying to recall everything that had happened before the damn alcoholic game.

You remember her voice, teasing and low, when she passed you the bowl with a silken ribbon tied around its rim.

“I expect you all to play properly. Treat each other.” Mei Mei smiled sweetly. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be... delightfully honest.”

Satoru raised a brow. “And you just happened to gift us this little game?”

Mei Mei only winked.

“It responds best when you’re all present. Together. I’ll leave you to it~.”

You remember the way Suguru narrowed his eyes suspiciously, how Nanami’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, and how Satoru just grinned like a cat sensing a trap—and jumping in anyway.

Still, the four of you gathered around the bowl like moths to flame.

And none of you questioned it.

Not when the dares made your heart race.

Not when the touches grew hot, personal, reverent.

Not even when you realized—you couldn’t stop playing.

The unspoken vow had taken hold.

And somewhere far away, Mei Mei probably sipped tea in a private lounge, legs kicked up, whispering to herself with smug delight— “Checkmate.”

You wanted to be mad at Mei Mei, but then again if you’d be truly honest with yourself… there wasn’t anything you didn’t like last night.

And you also promised the boys that you’d be thinking about it.

And Mei Mei gave you a sneak peak of all the possibilities if you agree to the arrangement.

But how would you face them today?

Simple. You try to disappear.

Try.

But the problem is you're not the only one who remembers every moan, every gasp, every tremble.

So much for trying to take things slow.

GETO SUGURU

You thought you were safe in the east wing, hiding between lesson plans and dusty chalkboards. But as you turned the corner into the dimly lit classroom, the door clicked shut behind you.

"Running away?" Suguru’s voice was a velvet threat.

You froze.

He was leaning against the desk, arms folded, one brow arched. That signature smirk was back, dangerous and devastating. "After everything we shared last night? You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart."

You turned to speak, but he was already in front of you—so close, so slow—his fingers brushing your cheek, trailing down your throat.

“You sounded so sweet screaming my name,” he whispered, pressing you back against the desk. “Let’s see if I can get a repeat performance.”

And when his mouth found your neck, your resolve crumbled. You arched into him, gave in, fingers curling in his hair as he took his time unraveling you again—right there between stacks of forgotten textbooks, his hands under your shirt while you press your abdomen against his thick, hard cock under his pants.

GOJO SATORU

You left the classroom on shaky legs, swearing you'd be smarter. Stay in public spaces. Avoid shadows. But Satoru’s never been one for rules.

He found you anyway.

"Peekaboo~" His voice sang out, and before you could duck away, his long arms were around your waist, pulling you into the nearest alcove, hidden behind a pillar near the staff offices.

“Trying to ghost me already?” he whispered into your ear, lips brushing the shell of it. “That’s mean. Especially after how well I made you scream last night.”

Your breath hitched.

“You’re insatiable,” you hissed, trying not to melt into him.

“Mmhmm,” he grinned, eyes sparkling behind his blindfold. “But so are you. You just don’t wanna admit it.”

He pinned you gently against the wall, hips pressed just right, mouth descending to steal a kiss so dizzying your knees nearly buckled. And when you clung to him, gasping as he nibbled your bottom lip, he whispered—

“Still running?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you were kissing him back, your hands trailing his abs under his shirt.

NANAMI KENTO 

You told yourself this was strictly business. Yaga asked you to pass off a report. Professional. Simple.

But the moment Nanami opened the door and saw you, something shifted behind his eyes.

You placed the folder on his desk.

He didn’t speak. Just stepped forward, took the door, and clicked it shut.

And locked it.

Your heartbeat stuttered.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, walking toward you slowly, like a predator scenting blood.

“I wasn’t—”

He reached you in two steps, his hands finding your hips, guiding you back until your thighs hit his desk.

"You weren’t there for breakfast," he murmured, voice low and steady. "I told you, my routine starts with you in it."

“I had errands,” you lied, breathless.

Nanami leaned in close, lips barely grazing your ear. “Liar.”

Then his mouth claimed yours—firm, commanding, hungry. And when you gasped into the kiss, he pulled you flush against him, lifting you onto the desk like you weighed nothing, like he needed to feel you again.

And gods, you needed it too.

[unnoticed-poison]

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎! 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔! 𝙷𝚊𝚣𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚕 𝚅𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚇 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 °【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟏 】°

【 𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟏 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟐 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟑 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟒 】 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 1 【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟒 】 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 2

Never thought I'd update this fast lol, guess my obsession is in full swing.

For those who haven't read the trailer chap you need to read it before this one.

The chaps are also posted on AO3, Wattpad and Quotev, the links will be posted soon ❣️

Anyways, enjoy.

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖𓆇˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

"Fuck!" The demoness cursed to herself, running as fast as she could through the streets, behind her, demons were being chased too, every 5 seconds or so, a bloodcurdling scream would erupt, signalling the death of another one of her fellow kind.

And it was almost her turn, she knew it was only a matter of time before that...𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 caught up to her as well.

She needed to find a place to hide, 𝘕𝘰𝘸.

"Move bitch!!"

The girl cried out in pain as she was shoved aside by another demon, sending her sprawling to the ground, the impact was hard and painful.

Before she could even try to stand up again, she was knocked over and trumpled upon by other demons, stepping over her body as they rushed by, breaking some of her bones in the process, and making her let out a heart-wrenching scream.

fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!

Fuck...

There was no hope for her to escape now...

"Please, make it quick..." She whispered softly, her breath caught in her throat when she felt a gentle breeze behind her, the sound of footsteps drawing close.

A quiet voice spoke, devoid of any emotions.

"Don't worry, I have no intention of torturing you, I need to reach my new high score anyway."

Oh..

As she took another deep breath, the demoness closed her eyes tightly, embracing the inevitable blow.

In a split second, thick crimson blood and pieces of brain splattered across the ground as the exterminator silently watched the now decapitated corpse go motionless.

"Number 1576." The angel said, removing the blood-spattered mask from her head.

Who was this particular angel? Of course, who else could it be other than 𝘺𝘰𝘶?

𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇

You sighed, glancing down at the blood stains on your mask before wiping it off.

Only 474 more to go.

You thought, your eyes scanning the road for your next target.

Suddenly, you noticed slight movement from one of the shadowy alleys nearby and you went into action, quickly putting your mask back on, your wings fluttered as you soared toward the alley.

"AHHHHH!!"

You stopped mid-flight, your hammer suspended in the air as you were frozen in your tracks by the sight before you.

Are those..eggs? Wearing suits??

There were five in total, the little eggs were shaking in fear, huddling together for dear life as they stared at up you with wide eyes filled with horror.

What were you going to do with them?

You stood there motionless for a few moments as the eggs lay defenceless before you.

........

Putting down your hammer, you stepped closer and kneeled down.

"Please don't kill us.."

The eggs closed their eyes as they waited for their swift death.

........

....

Huh?

Why aren't they smashed to pieces yet?

Opening their eyes, they saw one of them staring in wonder as the angel gently stroked its shell.

"You little things aren't my target, there's no need to worry." You whispered, your voice like a soothing lullaby, in an effort to calm them down.

Your touch was smooth and comforting, causing the egg's eyes to soften as he leaned into your hand with trust.

Seeing that, the other eggs shaking subsided as they allowed themselves to relax as well.

Feeling pleased, you smiled under the mask, before standing up again and looking around.

Shit, you wasted precious time.

You need to-

Huh?

Feeling a tap on your leg, you looked down.

One of the eggs was tapping on your leg repeatedly, gesturing towards the darkness.

"Boss! Boss!"

You couldn't help but tilt your head, what was this little one trying to say?

You soon understood when you heard a loud crash ahead of you.

"SHIT! Stupid machine!"

Oh.

𝘖𝘩.

Wonderful.

You thought as you headed over to the source of the noise.

You soon came across an entire airship, torn apart and hanging limply between two buildings, you then noticed a black snake cleaning the dust off his hat, looking completely unbothered, as if it was just another normal day.

Looks like an easy target, great!

The snake kept muttering to himself, not hearing you silently approaching until you were right behind him.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder, the man looked over his shoulder with a raised brow, it quickly turned into a terrified look as he jumped back, falling to the ground, his hat also falling off in the process.

"Wait! I-"

"I'll have to stop you right there, begging won't do you any good now." You smirked, raising the giant hammer above your head. "It's nothing personal really."

Fuck!

He can't die now! He hasn't beaten Alastor yet! He has so much to live for!!

Just as the hammer was about to make contact with his head, you paused yet again as you stared down.

???

"No!"

The little eggs from before stood in front of the snake protectively, they were visibly trembling, but their determination to protect the man did not waver.

"Why-"

"Don't kill him!"

.......huh.

You raised a brow, looking at the eggs standing guard then at the snake, who was glaring daggers at you, his gaze intense and sharp, but the slight fear was visible in his eyes as well.

........

A moment of silence had passed before you turned back to the man.

"Did you make those?"

Huh?

The man's expression shifted from fear and rage to outright confusion. "What?"

You gestured to the eggs with your hammer and asked again. "Were you the one who made those eggs?"

"Ah..yes? And..?"

You hummed as you leaned back.

"Make me one."

...What?

" Excuse me?"

"You heard me, make me one of those and I'll spare you and protect you from the rest of the exterminators, refuse and I'll get rid of you now and take those anyways." Your voice was unhurried and clear as you shrugged. " Your choice."

The threat could not have been more clear.

"I.."

"Make her one boss!"

"Are we gonna get a sibling?"

"You shut up!" He shouted at the eggs, his cheeks red from embarrassment.

He turned back to you and coughed. "Of course, I can make you one! Making one of those useless things is a piece of cake for someone as great as me!" He pointed up to the airship. " If you could take me up there that would be great."

You nodded. "Good." You said, picking up the serpent and carrying him bridal-style, the action causing his cheeks to turn red with embarrassment again, avoiding eye contact as you waited for the rest of the eggs to hold on to you before slowly flying up to the airship to not accidentally make one of the eggs fall off.

Once reaching there, you put the man down and stepped back. "Get to work."

"But-"

You waved the hammer lightly.

"Less talking and more working, now make me the damn egg before I change my mind."

𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇

As you sat atop a table, legs crossed, waiting for the man to finish making the egg, you played with the other eggs to pass the time.

"I need to think of a name for it.." you mumbled, one of the eggs heard you.

"How about Omelet!"

"No, Olaf!"

"Frank is better!"

"But MY name is Frank!"

You sat quietly, nodding along with everything they were saying, though not truly listening as you tuned them out completely.

Hmmm..

Hold on.

You hummed as you recalled something.

Don't snakes have two coc-

"I'm done!"

Ah.

"Took you long enough." You frowned as you got off the table and walked over.

The serpent rolled his eyes. " Half my tools were destroyed or misplaced during the crash your little 'friends' caused, here you go anyway."

He held out the egg for you to take, the suit and cute little hat were identical to the ones the others were wearing, you and the egg stared at each other silently, before it held out its arms towards you.

You put aside your weapon and carefully took hold of the egg.

"Hello little guy."

The egg smiled happily at you. " Hello! Are you my boss?"

The serpent nodded. " Yes yes, she's your boss so you have to listen to everything she says!" He glanced at you. "Sooo what do you think?"

You nodded, pleased with the results. " I love him, great job."

The serpent puffed out his chest in pride. " Of course! This was nothing! And for your information, I'm the great Sir-"

You ignored what he was saying as you turned back to the egg and began to think of a name.

'𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮.....𝘈𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘵!'

"I think I'll name you...Scramble."

"I like it!" He said, making you chuckle as you gently rubbed your cheek against his.

You might not have reached your high score for this year, but it was not a problem, you can always compensate for it.

Next year, you'll go for 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦.

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖𓆇˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

Hope you guys liked the chap ❣️

Those little eggs are so cute I couldn't resist!

Btw, my friend said 'Imagine if he gave birth to those eggs or something' I couldn't stop thinking about it and I couldn't resist so I made this :

Mc : make me one of those and I'll spare you

Sir Pentious: What happened to hello how are you? Take me on a date at the very least! How shameful!

Mc :*confused exterminator noise*...ok

And they spend the rest of the day going on a date while the world is in shambles behind them

Sometime later

Lute: Where the hell were you! You didn't come back in time!

Mc, with the egg in a basket: I became a mother.

Lute :....the 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 did you just say?

The egg: •⩊•♡︎

[vosh-rakh]

The trek from Maar Gan, traveling the treacherous Foyada Bani-Dad up to the northern ashlands of Vvardenfell, was long and arduous, and cliff racers hounded Ku-vastei like flies. Some she could swat away; others, the truly hungry, she had to impale on her spear. She found that a quick swipe, her hands on the far end of the haft for extra reach, could rip open one of their wings. From there, finishing off the creature was a simple task, albeit annoying. She ended up covered in their black blood, staining her robes.

Once she found a gap in the Foyada’s eastern peaks, she found herself in a wide grey expanse of ash and dust. It was different from the ashlands near Ald’ruhn, and the hell-pits of Molag Amur. The air was calm, the atmosphere tranquil. Her scaled feet sank comfortably into the bed of ash, squeezing in between her clawed toes like sand. It seemed like the northern winds from the Sea of Ghosts kept away the ashstorms, and for this, she was immensely glad.

Ku-vastei could see nearby along the coast the distinctive shapes and spires of a Daedric ruin. None of the guides she consulted in Maar Gan mentioned this; she hadn’t thought to prepare for fighting Daedra. She gave it a wide berth as she traveled parallel to the shore, seeking the Urshilaku camp.

She caught the scent of the smoke before she saw it rising into the night sky, obscuring the stars. Tentatively she approached; eventually she saw the source casting warm light on patchwork guar and kagouti hides, silhouettes dancing like a shadowplay against their canvas.

The camp was small. She counted maybe twenty round tents erected around a smoothed plot of ashland, each scarcely adorned with hints of color in small tapestries and hanging rugs. A large silt strider shell, greyed from its many years of disuse, seemed to anchor the little village; a nearby small well surrounded by short black spires of igneous rock centered the huts around it. 

Ku-vastei realized she was being watched. A nearby Ashlander had stopped in his tracks, staring at her without expression. 

“Hail,” said Ku-vastei, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

The Dunmer only grunted in response, his red eyes still trained on her scales.

Most other times, Ku-vastei might have taken offense. But way out here, in the middle of nowhere, she doubted this Dunmer had ever seen an Argonian in his life – maybe not even heard of such a person. She tried again. “Hail. I wish to speak to your…leader. Ashkhan. And your Wise Woman.”

The Ashlander scoffed. “And who are you,” he said, his voice somehow even more gravelly than the typical Vvardenfeller, “that you should ask for an audience with the great Sul-Matuul?” He spoke Dunmeris well enough, but it was clearly not his first language, judging by his intonation.

“I am Ku-vastei. I wish to learn about the Nerevarine prophecies.”

“You are an outlander,” corrected the Ashlander, “and not of the Velothi, much less our tribe. You will not receive audience.”

Ku-vastei’s tail swept through the ash behind her angrily. The Ashlander noticed, but didn’t seem to understand, his tired gaze unchanging. He began to turn around.

Ku-vastei took a deep breath to calm herself, and thought back to what Hassour had told her in Ald’ruhn about Ashlander customs. “Wait,” she said, calling back to the Ashlander as he started to walk away. He turned back. “Muthsera,” Ku-vastei said, “is there anything I can do for you? Is there something I could give to you, to earn your respect?”

The Ashlander cocked an eyebrow. “Hm. Maybe you do know our ways.” He paused to think for a moment. “Trama root. I need some for brewing Rising Force. I hunt in the foyada to the west for our tribe. It helps me to take flight to chase the racers when they flee.”

Ku-vastei reflected on her inventory, and begged for a moment from the Ashlander. She swung her pack from her shoulders, set it in the ash, and began to dig through her belongings. Eventually she pulled from it a nub of trama root, wrapped in paper to keep it from reacting with her other ingredients, and offered it to the hunter. “This will help you. I offer it freely, as a gift, muthsera.”

The hunter took the parcel and unfolded the paper to inspect the sample. “Yes, this will do. A large root, too. I can make several potions from just this.”

The camp was silent for a moment, its other denizens asleep, as the hunter quietly pocketed the trama root. Ku-vastei was unsure it had worked, and nearly spoke again, but the hunter cut her off. “Zabamund. You will speak with him, with my blessing. He is gulakhan, and the closest to Sul-Matuul. You can try to convince him to give you his blessing to speak with the ashkhan. Make sure to tell Zabamund that Shabinbael sent you. That is my name, and he will know it.”

“Where can I find Zabamund?”

“The ashkhan and gulakhan yurts are five yurts under one canopy, with Sul-Matuul’s at the center. The yurt to the right of his is Zabamund’s.”

Ku-vastei nodded, and said, “Thank you, muthsera.” Begrudgingly, she decided to add, “Blessings of Azura upon you.”

Never in the entire exchange did Shabinbael’s expression change, and it did not now. “Hmph,” he grumbled, before disappearing into a nearby tent.

Ku-vastei clasped her pack and returned it to her back, taking note of the nearby tents – “yurts,” Shabinbael called them – as she did. She took her small journal from a pocket in her robes, and jotted something down with her charcoal pencil about the layout of the camp before closing the book and pocketing it again. Then she headed for the largest complex of yurts, which housed the ashkhan and his gulakhans. Following Shabinbael’s directions, she cautiously entered the yurt right-of-center.

It was clearly the abode of a warrior. Chitin weapons and beast trophies hung from the kagouti-skin walls, leaning inwards towards the fire like individual threats. It put Ku-vastei’s tail on edge, as if she were personally under attack. 

Zabamund sat behind the fire, every inch of his body covered with chitin armor, his war-axe laying by his side inches from his resting hands. His eyes burned like burning coals, piercing the hearth’s flame, and Ku-vastei’s face.

“Outlander,” he spoke, his voice low and threatening. “Why do you think it proper to enter my home, during my time of rest?”

Ku-vastei set her jaw tight, the words barely passing through her teeth: “I am Ku-vastei, sent by Shabinbael. I wish to learn of the Nerevarine prophecies from your ashkhan and wise woman.”

Zabamund did not move; only the dancing of the flame, and the fluttering of the shadows of weapons and trophies on the walls. “And why should Sul-Matuul or Nibani Maesa speak with you on these things? Who are you, that they should trust you?”

Ku-vastei nearly rolled her eyes before catching herself. This old song and dance, again. She considered digging out her coinpurse, but she changed her mind with a glance at Zabamund’s war-axe, the only weapon in the room not flickering in the light. “I will fight you for the honor of Sul-Matuul’s ear. To the death, if need be, but I see you are an honorable man, of great accomplishment, and it would be a pity for your tribe to lose you.”

All was silent save the crackling of flame for a scant moment. But then a surprising thing happened, which caught Ku-vastei off-guard: Zabamund smiled, his teeth shining through the rising fire. “You are not an unworthy opponent,” he said. “I hear honor in your words, and courage in your heart. I would regret killing you. But regret even more should you kill me.” He paused a moment, considering carefully. “Very well. Perhaps Sul-Matuul will be angry with me. But I think I can bear that. Go to the ashkhan's yurt and speak with Sul-Matuul. Ask him your questions, and tell him I have sent you.”

Ku-vastei bowed, and ducked out of the tent. The warm light from the gulakhan’s hearthfire flickered away to nothing with each rhythmic shutter of the door-flap until it fell closed completely.

She turned one yurt to the left, towards Sul-Matuul’s tent. She took a deep breath of the cold night air before pushing the door-flap aside to enter.

The ashkhan’s walls were not covered with weapons, nor hunting- and war-trophies. They seemed bare at first, but then Ku-vastei slowly noticed they were lined with hanging scrolls, their strange lettering faint in the dim candlelight. The space was warm despite the lack of a true fire. Sul-Matuul stood stoic facing one such scroll, his eyes racing down its lines of script.

Ku-vastei made to speak, but Sul-Matuul spoke first. “My champion Zabamund has sent you. This is good. You wish to speak with me about the Nerevarine prophecies.” He turned his head towards Ku-vastei, still standing in the open door-flap. “Come in…Argonian. We may discuss this only in private.”

Ku-vastei couldn’t tell through his Velothi accent whether the tone of “Argonian” betrayed bigotry, or merely neutral surprise. Nevertheless she finished entering, letting the flap fall closed behind her. “Sul-Matuul,” she said, “I am Ku-vastei. I come to you and your people to learn of these prophecies.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “I believe I may fulfill them.”

Sul-Matuul scoffed. “You are an outlander. You are not Urshilaku; you are not Velothi; you are not even Dunmer. You are a fool for believing this, and anyone would be a fool to believe you.”

Ku-vastei’s tail swung viciously, audibly hitting the yurt’s door-flap with a slap. Her jaw barely opening, she hissed, “Test me against the prophecies. Test me by truth, not by assumption. By my claws, not by my scales.”

A flash in Sul-Matuul’s eyes suggested both fury and laughter at the same time. “You are a bold fool, then. No outlander can join the Nerevarine cult.” He scratched under his chin. “But if one were adopted to the tribe as Clanfriend…”

“How must I do this?”

Sul-Matuul finally turned to face Ku-vastei directly. “I have an initiation rite in mind. A harrowing. In a harrowing, you will be judged by the spirits and ancestors to see if you are worthy.” He stepped towards Ku-vastei. “Go to the Urshilaku Burial Caverns. Fetch me Sul-Senipul’s Bonebiter Bow. Sul-Senipul was my father, and his spirit yet defends the caverns, and his bow. Enter deep within the caverns and seek out this artifact. Do not return to me without it.”

“How may I find this place?”

“Ask one of our hunters. Seek Shabinbael. He knows the region well.”

Ku-vastei nodded, and with nothing left to say, she left.

- - - 

By the same time the next evening, Ku-vastei had returned. Exhausted, she barged into Sul-Matuul’s yurt without caution. “Sul-Matuul,” she said. “I bring you your father’s bow.” She grasped its taut chitin length tightly in her claws.

(Sul-Senipul’s bow was not the only thing Ku-vastei claimed from the Burial Caverns to make the adventure worth all the trouble. Among the honored dead she found a staff she knew would prove beneficial to her career with the Mage’s Guild, an enchanted helm of the Telvanni Dust Adepts, a magical glass greatsword, and a poison-tipped silver spear. These she concealed in the ash nearby the Urshilaku camp to retrieve later; another item, a Dreugh-shell cuirass, she wore concealed under her robes.)

Sul-Matuul was sitting against one of the walls, his head lowered either in repose or meditation, she could not tell. He raised his bright red eyes to see. “You return, covered in bone dust and ectoplasm. Interesting. And with the Bonebiter. Bring it here.”

Ku-vastei did as bidden, stepping forward to offer the bow. As she extended her hands towards Sul-Matuul, she noticed some kind of resistance or friction, as if her arms were unwilling to give it away. A curse on the bow, as some kind of final challenge? No, she thought, as she focused her eyes. Sul-Matuul had a vague violet aura about him. Some kind of Shield, either freshly applied in suspicion of her intent, or else a paranoid perpetual one on his person.

Regardless, she forced the bow into Sul-Matuul’s hands and quickly retracted her arms from the Shield. The Ashkhan inspected the bow, his hands tenderly running down its length, fingers testing the tautness of the string. “Yes,” he said. “It is dusty, but in good shape. Sul-Senipul has maintained it, all these years, even in death.” He held it back out to Ku-vastei. “Here. Take it. I have no need for it.”

Ku-vastei struggled against the Shield again to retrieve the bow. “And as for your promise?”

“Yes. Somehow you completed the initiation rite.” He rose to his feet. “I name you Clanfriend of the Velothi. Respect fellow members of the Urshilaku, their health, safety, and property, and they shall respect you also.” 

He walked towards the opposite wall, littered with scrolls. “Now that you are Clanfriend, I will speak plainly. I find your claim hard to believe. You are an outlander. The Nerevarine is to drive the outlanders from Morrowind. How could an outlander be the incarnate?” He turned his head back swiftly. “The Great Houses have stolen everything from us, the true Velothi, and mock us with false gods. They steal our land, and our dignity. The Nerevarine is the last hope of the Velothi to survive. No outlander will steal this hope from us.”

Ku-vastei didn’t know what to say. She knew little of the ashlanders, but what Sul-Matuul said sounded familiar. “My own people have had everything stolen from them by the Houses,” she said. “The Saxhleel have had our lands stolen, our Hist trees burned, our bodies enslaved and beaten.” She sighed. “Once, I raised an army to take back what was ours, many years ago.”

“You live,” Sul-Matuul observed, “yet clearly you failed.”

Her grip tightened on the Bonebiter, her tail straightening rigid. “I have learned much in the last twenty years. I will not fail again.”

Sul-Matuul said nothing, but nodded after a moment. “Perhaps. Go. Speak with Nibani Maesa. She will put you to the true tests.”

- - -

The wise woman's hair was intricately braided and decorated with racer plumes and glass beads. Not just glass beads, Ku-vastei realized, but glass beads, the volcanic material smoothed into small milky-green pebbles. This valuable stuff, which could have been wrought into an axe or spear for a gulakhan, was instead lovingly crafted to beautify the wise woman. This reverence humbled Ku-vastei, who remembered bringing useless but pretty stones found at the bottom of saltrice paddies to her naheesh long ago. She would sit and listen to more stories from the Marsh as her elder drilled quiet holes into them.

The sharp click of a snap stole Ku from her reverie, and she came back to the wise woman’s yurt. Nibani Maesa studied her guest’s face. “Did you hear me, outlander? You are not the Nerevarine.”

Ku-vastei blinked away surprise and grounded herself by listening to the windchimes outside. “Okay,” she said.

Nibani frowned. “‘Okay’?”

“Am I supposed to feel like the Nerevarine?” Ku’s tail swished restlessly behind her in the ash as she sat on her knees atop the rug the wise woman had laid out for her.

“Ku-vastei. You come to us, to the great Urshilaku, to our great ashkhan Sul-Matuul, and claim to be the Nerevarine.” Nibani closed her eyes and shook her head. “You even go on his suicide-quest, and return triumphant.”

Ku-vastei’s eyes widened. “Suicide-quest?”

Nibani opened her eyes again. “Never mind that. You do all this, then you meet the slightest resistance from me, of all people, and you decide you have done enough? You will forfeit your claim so easily?”

“But I’m only doing what I was told.” Ku realized how this must sound, so quickly elaborated. “I mean, I’ve been told I might be the Nerevarine. But I don’t feel like it.”

“A hero never feels like a hero,” said Nibani Maesa, pointing at Ku-vastei’s heart. 

“I thought you said I wasn’t the Nerevarine?” Ku asked, her mouth not closing after the last syllable.

“Yes, I said you are not the Nerevarine. But you could yet become the Nerevarine.”

Ku-vastei clenched her jaw shut. “That makes no sense. I either am or I’m not.”

“Such is the way of prophecy. Azura rarely makes her intentions fully known all at once.”

“Azura,” Ku-vastei breathed, “Azura, Azura. I’ve had enough of Azura.”

Nibani either didn’t hear or pretended not to. “There are conditions you haven’t met. Some you have. You were born under the Steed, which is auspicious. So was Nerevar. Your parents are unknown. So were Nerevar’s.” Nibani took a sip of her trama root tea. “But as for the conditions you haven’t met, perhaps you still may. In time.”

Ku-vastei gulped down some of her own tea. Maybe this won’t have been a wasted effort after all. “What must I do to meet them?”

“Not all is known to me. Many things we Wise Women once knew have been lost. But surely, somewhere, they were written. Find the Lost Prophecies, if you can. Then I can be your guide. Until then, go. Reflect on what you have learned. And take these to study.” Nibani handed Ku-vastei the two scrolls of riddle-like prophecies she had been consulting. 

Ku-vastei carefully tucked the scrolls into her bag and stood to leave. “Thank you, naheesh.”

“Nibani.”

“Yes. Sorry.” Ku-vastei didn’t realize she’d called her “naheesh.” She felt an old sense of peace and comfort around this old woman that reminded her of the matronly elder on the plantation where she was born. 

“Go. Come back when you are ready.”

Ku-vastei left Nibani Maesa’s yurt, and looked up at the moons and stars above her as she stood on the intricate rug outside. She hoped this would be enough for Caius, for now.

[pascalispretty]

Love Shack

Joel Miller x GN!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Joel gets a boner, forced proximity, only one bed, friends to lovers, kissing, implied smut

Summary: Stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm, you and Joel have to share the only bed. And you have to do your best to hide the crush you've been nursing on him. (ao3).

Notes: Another secret santa! This one is for @sp00kymulderr - Merry Christmas lovely!! My thanks as always to @misscharlielulu for listening to me agonise about every tiny detail. Title is silly, but I couldn't think of anything else.

You had been a little intimidated when Joel first showed up in Jackson, his not-daughter trailing behind him. He was tall and broad, and often stomped around town with a face like thunder. Gradually though, he had settled in to life in Jackson. After a winter storm sent a tree branch crashing through your roof, he was put in charge of fixing the hole. A contractor in a former life, according to Maria, he had done his job well.

Being in such proximity to him made you notice new things about him. The softness with which he would speak about Ellie when you offered to give them the game of Jenga that had been on the shelves when you’d moved in. The obvious care he seemed to take in his work. The polite nod and sincere thank you when you made him tea after a long day toiling up on your roof.

The more you came to know Joel, the less intimidating he seemed. It was a sentiment that was shared by many of the people in Jackson. People who went on patrol with him spoke warmly of his talents – his skill at building traps for animals, his talent for picking off Clickers with Tommy’s borrowed sniper rifle.

On the occasions you were assigned to patrol with him, you generally came back to Jackson having learned something new. A different type of snare for rabbits, or a better way to tie a deer he’d shot to one of the horses.

The best thing, though, was the music.

There was a piano in the back of the mess hall that had been there ever since you arrived in Jackson. Gracie, the older lady who’d taken you under her wing when you arrived, had taught you how to play; before the outbreak, she’d given lessons. And, at Ellie’s insistence, Joel had played with you once or twice in the mess hall, accompanying you on the guitar while you played. You wish you had a guitar right now.

It would give Joel something else to focus on other than your current predicament.

The snow hadn’t been that heavy when you left Jackson to go on patrol with Joel. But the snow started coming down so thickly that you could barely see Joel and his horse in front of you, and the wind screamed through the trees like some new and horrifying variant of Infected.

Before long, you and Joel had been left with a choice; to seek shelter where you could, or to try and go back to Jackson. Joel had managed to guide you to a cabin used as an outpost by other patrols. There was a ski resort not far from the town, and little log cabins still dotted the landscape. Half of them were in ruins; one had burned out leaving only the shell of a corner behind.

You, Joel and the horses had crowded into the one that seemed the least derelict. It was a tiny place. The horses were left in the remains of the open space that contained a kitchen and a moth-eaten sofa. It left the small bedroom for you and Joel to hole up in. Sitting awkwardly on the sagging bed, you can hear Joel breaking up some of the remaining furniture in the other room to build a fire.

“This place is barely a cabin,” Joel groused, building the fire up with broken table and chair legs. “It’s a glorified shack.” You carry on crumpling up the pages of an old newspaper you’d found under the bed, gnawing on your lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you start. He had wanted to try for the lodge further up the hill, but you had been reluctant to push the horses any harder. A deep sigh escapes from him.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for. You were right, we shouldn’t have pushed the horses. ‘s just that this place is so small.” He’s not wrong about that. The bed is shoved right up against the wall, and with the horses in the other room, the only other space is a tiny bathroom you don’t even want to think about right now.

The fire flickers slowly to life, and you and Joel hang up your outer layers to dry. You still wish for music, for something to break the awkward silence between you. The storm shows no sign of letting down; the little cabin holds in the warmth of the fire, but it’s not enough to keep the chill out entirely.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Joel says. “I’ll keep watch in the other room.”

“Who could find us all the way out here, in this storm?” You point out. It’s not like you want to exacerbate the awkwardness in the air, but sharing a bed might at least help keep you both warm.

So the two of you begrudgingly settle into the bed. You lie between Joel and the wall, trying to ignore the draft creeping in from some miniscule crack near your feet. It’s so quiet; the sound of the wind outside is muffled, so only the crackle of the fire and the occasional shift of the horses in the next room disturbs the quiet. When you whisper a ‘good night’ to Joel, it sounds almost deafening in the hush that’s settled over the cabin.

You’re not sure how long you doze for. Only that, when you wake, you realise Joel has moved closer to you in the night. Instead of lying stiffly several inches away, he’s curled around you from behind. And, pressing insistently against the small of your back, Joel is unmistakably hard.

You nearly choke on your own tongue when you realise it, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. He must be having quite the dream. Trapped between his body and the wall, you’re not sure what to do with yourself. You’ve always been painfully aware of how attractive Joel is, but you’ve never considered that he might reciprocate that feeling; you settled for the friendship he slowly offered, the bond over music.

Time is meaningless out here, without even the sun to indicate whether it’s noon or night. You’ve no notion of how long you lie there for, contemplating an escape route. You want to avoid the possibility of an awkward conversation, of Joel getting the slightest hint of your crush on him. Even thinking of it as a crush sounds hopelessly juvenile.

It’s just your luck that a log collapses in the fire, the wood clattering as it rolls out of the fireplace and onto the floor. Joel is up immediately, picking up the unburned end and shoving it back into the fire before it can catch the timber floor. You sit frozen on the bed, unable to speak first, praying that Joel somehow hasn’t even noticed.

“…shit.” Joel still has his back to you, and something sinks in your gut at how disappointed he sounds. “Shit, I’m so- I’m sorry.”

“It happens, don’t worry. It’s just biology.” You shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. There’s the snapping of more wood as Joel vents his frustration on the remaining chair legs, breaking them and throwing them into the fire.

“Feels like a shitty thing to do.”

“Well, you could have bought me a drink first,” you tease. To your surprise he – well, he doesn’t laugh. He more just huffs out of his nose. But he sounds amused by it, at least.

“Now you sound like Ellie. She’s always tryin’ to get me to be nicer to you. Says I owe you a drink every time you let me sing when we play.” Rather than stay awkwardly standing, he opts to kneel by the bed instead. Up close, you can see just how lovely and dark his eyes are, and see the smattering of grey hair in his beard.

“You don’t owe me anything for that. I like it when you sing.” He’d sung the House of the Rising Sun for you by way of an audition, and you’d been immediately enamoured with his rough but lovely voice. It reminds you of the country singers that Eugene listens to on tape.

“Well, I like it when you play.” Joel’s eyes sweep over you, and he gives another deep sigh. “I am sorry. ‘s not fair to you.”

“Joel, it’s really okay. I didn’t mind.” Are you crazy, or did he look at you with more interest when you said that?

“How can you not mind some old man groping you in your sleep?” He asks, shaking his head. “I understand if you don’t wanna go on patrol with me any more when we get back, I can talk to Tommy-”

“Joel,” you say firmly, cutting him off. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, but you push on. “I really didn’t mind. Really. And I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to get back up here with me.” You might have just ruined whatever friendship you had with him, but you can’t bear him beating himself up over it any longer. He raises an eyebrow at you, eyes skimming over your body.

“You wouldn’t mind?” He asks eventually, leaning in closer.

“No. I- I want you to.” You worry you sound pathetic, but Joel doesn’t seem to think so. His eyes watching your face closely for any sign of discomfort, he climbs back onto the bed and lies down beside you. Your faces are only inches apart. You have nothing else to lose, certainly no dignity left.

You lean in and kiss him.

His lips are soft and full against yours, and Joel barely hesitates before he’s kissing you back. You have no idea if your friendship will be salvageable after this, but right now, with Joel’s lips against yours, you’re not sure you care. One of his large hands rests on your waist, pulling your body closer to him as he deepens the kiss.

Later, when the fire has died down, and the storm is starting to abate, you’ll wonder how exactly it happened. How your clothes came to be strewn about the tiny bedroom, how Joel’s come ended up drying on your thigh.

But right now, you’re content to melt into Joel and enjoy whatever he has to give you.

Taglist:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @its-nebuleuse @irishavengersassemble

[draconicramen]

Ethel, my TKH OC!

I didn't know about TKH until @elmushterri 's latest episode, and like someone else whose gorgeous post I saw, made a Tumblr account just for this! I really hope I'm not too late, but either way it was really fun drawing her even though it took almost nine hours!

Also since some people wanted to collaborate with eachother on how their Knights would interact with eachother, YES PLEASE I WOULD LOVE TO JOIN IN IF YOU GUYS WILL LET ME!!

Ethel was a teenager in Britain when the First World War broke out, and lived with her large family. She dressed as a man and hid her identity, usinig the fake name "Edwin", and joined the army to prevent her brother from doing so (he had to take care of the youngest children in her absence because the parents had been on vacation and were unable to travel back because of the war). She was only 16.

In the British army, she cared for the carrier pigeons as they traveled, but did her fair share of trench digging and a little fighting on the battlefield and probably won a lot of pub brawls whenever they stopped in a town, using her wits. One person in her regiment knew her secret, but kept it quiet for her, they were best friends and she was also hiding the fact he was probably too young to fight. Well, one fateful day the two of them were in a shell-hole together, and he had been hit.

Ethel died running across trenches and No Man's Land to get him to safety, and didn't stop until she reached the medical tent, where she smiled at him, said, "Lord be my witness, it wasn't long but I bloody sure lived" and collapsed, having bled out after her absurd feat of strength and endurance. He wrote back to her family as soon as he could, because they hadn't known she was in the army, and between him and her family, she was awarded multiple medals after her death and a museum was eventually built in her hometown for women involved in the war effort.

Ethel's Mortal Wound symbol is from a grenade blast that hit her as she ran across the battlefield, damaging the arteries in her neck and causing her to bleed out. Her weapon is a shovel, which is incredibly useful! WW1 shovels often had serrated edges on one side so they could be used as a saw to cut wood, but it means that she can cause some serious damage with a wound that's difficult or nearly impossible to heal. If Saving Graces are canon, her's is to summon forcefields (in the shape of pigeon wings!), that are typically used as shields but she can use to carry things or possibly even fly! Also it's not a power but she is insanely good with birds, and pretty good with horses and sometimes dogs, and it almost looks supernatural (it's not she's just really good at reading their body language). Despite being only 16/17 at the time of her death, and a little feral (she won pub brawls against grown men at the age of 16 what did you expect), she is incredibly mature when it's called for. In fact, you wouldn't think she's as young as she is unless someone told you! Older Knights probably like her just cause she's incredibly obedient compared to the other teenage Knights (army training) and waited until given the O.K. to go into battle, but she's probably more skilled at fighting than most Knights due to her experience in life. She's also probably better than most at controlling her Awakened form (if that's canon) because she has had to learn how to control her emotions.

The downside? She sometimes comes across as rude, arrogant, or strange (she doesn't tell anyone her backstory unless they ask or if she really needs to win an argument and mentions her multiple medals, so unless you ask or someone tells you, you wouldn't know that she acts like a hooligan because she spent her teenage years winning drinking competitions and pub brawls against grown men), jumps at loud noises (read: will attack anything within shovel range if a balloon pops behind her, and might actually take your head off on accident, because explosions and gunfire are literally what killed her), and talks to pigeons, horses, and dogs like they're people. She also has difficulty backing down from a challenge, and a concerningly large vocabulary that could make a sailor blush.

[rayquazing]

Fire in the Blood

For Taash Week 2025 Day 1: Dragon/Fire

@datvcompanionweeks

They’ve got fire in the blood. 

Heat in the lungs. 

Sparks in their muscles and char on their bones. 

Taash has got fire in the blood. 

It’s even in the name; little dragon. Fire. Flame. Heat. Their eyes are verdant green but their soul is white hot. 

Their mother knew it, and, though her intentions were kind, she feared it. Feared the Antaam, the Qun, those who would tie her offspring down, those who would temper the flames into a weapon; a tool. So, perhaps paradoxically, she taught Taash to bind themself in the dar-saam, tying down all that which threatened to burn out of control. Shokra toh ebra. 

Bind it down. Hide it away. Swallow back all of that which challenged the preconceived notions of what should be; that was the lesson a young Taash took from the dar-saam. 

The ropes were a shield from the rogue Antaam, but also a prison; the cage of womanhood closing in about them like steel walls as their body grew around them; and with it she and her, became less benign descriptors, and more knives of ice to the gut, the neck, the breast. 

But they had fire in the blood; and fire burned bright and hot, and was not so easily quelled nor stamped out beneath the boots of those who would see them made small or obedient. 

Their brush with the one called Riven “Rook” Mercar was their first touchstone to the concept of non-binary. To the elf it was a simple word, a simple way of being. A simple and innate as man or woman. Rook lived out their truth with a subtle, roguish grace that beguiled Taash more than any person they had ever met before. 

The fire in their blood blazed at the elf’s attentions, which they were often the center of. With Riven they felt like they might sprout wings and simply fly away from it all. Like a little dragon hatching, they began to crack the suddenly thin shell of their close walled prison, blinking through at the fresh, blinding daylight of truth for the first time in their life. 

When they found the Antaam ropes in the blighted dragon’s den, Riven was there to witness their realization. 

Just as the Antaam had blighted the dragons, tied them down, supped them on the festering poison of the Gods. Taash had been tied down by their well-meaning mother, but also by the larger society of Thedas as a whole. They had been caged by a binary in which they did not fit, their wings had been clipped, their fire smothered. Womanhood had been a facade, a cage, ropes to tie them down, potion to lull them to sleep. But now they are awake. Wide awake. Their eyes have never been peeled so wide. 

It hurts their heart, even understanding what their mother had done to protect them. Her precious egg, smooth shelled, unhatched, perfectly perfect in its slumber. 

But Taash has fire in the blood. 

And the little dragon hatches.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63774607/chapters/163518304

[somepsychopomp]

Winged!Ed AU ft. Hohenheim (Pt.1)

rotating an idea for an FMA(B) AU in my mind where Ed has wings that are typically folded tight against his back and hidden by his red coat. He's basically born a chimera and chooses to hide his status to avoid obvious questions and suspicions.

But I want to lay down the background details, starting here:

Xerxesians, being prodigious alchemists, would of course have dabbled in chimeras and were the first to produce "successful" chimeras- similar to Greed's crew where they pass pretty much entirely for human. Most of their test subjects would have been servants, slaves, poor folk trading their bodies for coin, etc.

that's how we get Hohenheim- or 23, the twenty-third in a long line of chimerical experiments. He himself wasn't fused with an animal, but his mother or father was. 23, in turn, was actually born with a set of wings.

(Hohenheim being born a chimera is important to note bc it means his master not only made a series of healthy chimera, but ones that could reproduce! unfounded at the time)

Hohenheim was born w/ the wings of a lesser kestrel. I chose this bird more because it fits Ed more than Ho, but I just liked a few key details about it!

The lesser kestrel occupies a territory from Germany across the Middle East all the way to East Asia, which isn't super important given that FMA is set in a fictional world but loosely speaking, it's feasible that a Xerxesian alchemist could get his hands on one for human experimentation purposes.

I like the faintly red-brown coloration the males have on the back of their wings in combination w/ that black- very Ed.

They do well in grasslands/agricultural fields but are also adaptable to urban environments & co-existing with humans.

They are birds of prey!

however, they're quite diminutive birds of prey- meaning they're small and arguably very cute. (They're like 10-13 inches in length and notably smaller than Common Kestrels & other birds of prey)

Hohenheim's wings are proportional to his body tho, giving him the ability to fly.

As a slave, his physical fitness was well tested. He can fly and glide with great agility, but he was never allowed to go far because his master always kept him tethered to prevent his escape. Hohenheim also has a trail of feathers going down his spine but interestingly enough, he lacks a kestrel tail. He supposes that's not surprising, he lacks talons or a beak or eyesight far beyond that of a human. But perhaps he carries the genes for a tail. (Foreshadowing)

As an adult post-fall of Xerxes, Hohenheim found himself lost and shell shocked.

For many years, he contemplated cutting off his wings so he could better blend in with humans. But as a living Philosopher's Stone, he felt like it would be pointless endeavor and instead learned to hide them with a long coat.

Most of his canon story is basically the same until he meets Trisha.

When he fell in love with Trisha, Hohenheim knew full well that as a born and fertile chimera himself, it's fully possible their children will be born like him. He wasn't certain how great of a chance it was, it could be a recessive trait with no hope of ever resurfacing down his family line, or it could be a guarantee.

Hohenheim first has to reveal his wings to Trisha.

Even though he fully expected her to reject him at that point, understandably so, she instead accepted Hohenheim for who and what he was. She understood the possible consequences of their relationship and was completely willing to raise a potentially chimera child, together.

cue their first son.

To be safe, they have a home brith without a doctor or midwife, relying instead on Hohenheim's knowledge of alkahestry and human anatomy to tend to and heal Trisha.

And at the end of it, Edward Elric is born with wings. His were characteristic of baby kestrels, puffy and white and lacking the coloration or streamlined appearance that Hohenheim had as an adult.

Turning Edward over to properly examine his body, Hoheheim is horrified to see a small, tiny tuft of a tail protruding from Edward's lower back.

Dear god, his child was even more of a chimera than him! It's devastating to think of, until...

Hohenheim and all his souls cry at the sight of Trisha cooing at Edward as if he were a normal child, kissing his forehead and soothing his chip-like cries. She loves him. She loves their child, even if he was like Hohenheim. So brave, so loving, his Trisha.

But it also terrifies Hohenheim. He knew Trisha wanted at least two children, partly so they could help on their small family farm and partly so that the children could keep each other company.

All he has to go off of is the fact that his one and only child was very visibly a chimera. Ed will always be lesser than those around him- he will always have to hide his true self. But Trisha loved him and still wanted another child with her whole heart.

So they have Alphonse. And to Hohenheim's amazement, their second child has no visible chimera traits whatsoever! He's for all intents and purposes, human! He's human, and beautiful.

And perhaps, perhaps, just perhaps...even if Hohenheim does his best to treat both his boys equally, there's just the tiniest part of him that wants to recoil at the sight of Ed in the bathtub, flapping his wings and sending up bubbles. He's arguably slow to help Trisha bind Ed's wings before he goes out to play with Winry so they aren't seen, as well as when Trisha fits Ed with some kind of outer garment like a loose sweater or coat to hide the shape of his wings. He's possibly, if one looked close enough, a tad bit reluctant to groom Ed's wings. To gently pinch his pin feathers to release them (new feathers are encased in a white sheath as they grow out to protect them before they're fully developed), or combing his feathers or anything else.

The only thing Hohenheim does persistently and with excruciating effort/attention is when he clips Edward's flight & tail feathers so that even if he tried, he couldn't fly. It's honestly better if Edward never, ever learns how to fly and never develops the desire to. Far less a chance of someone ever uncovering his condition.

Hohenheim and Trisha have the same argument many times over the course of the first few years of the boys' lives. Hohenheim, as Ed's father, wants to take responsibility for his son's unfortunate condition by severing Ed's wings and tail before he's old enough to really remember them and the procedure.

Trisha, in contrast, argues that Edward's extra extremities are perfectly healthy limbs, even if his wing muscles are underdeveloped, and that it would be a tragedy to cut out such an integral part of himself.