#uncomfortable. like. I don’t think of myself as resilient At All and I feel a bit like I’m lying or tricking them.

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

My roommate and I had a conversation last night and I keep rotating it in my brain and I Don’t Like It

[echo-sigh]

Hello, Echo. I’m sending this as Im fend up with my friends treatment by k9 and his staff. Im sending this myself as I do not wish for my very close friend to be sent death treats by k9s awful dickriding community. Yes I said it but its true and they was trying to be civil and respectful to him and his staff team by talking about their concerns but was brushed off and banned cause k9 cant handle accountability. They were a person who has been directly impacted by k9s horrible attitude and personality.

I have thorough evidence of the whole conversation within the ticket and how they was treated along with a message that they were typing up that they didnt even get to send cause i was banned.

See message below along with screen recordings of everything talked about on my account in a post as videos cant be sent in asks:

“I quite frankly think I need to be blunt to get my point across as honestly as possible, so I apologise in advance for the tone moving forward, because this genuinely concerns me as a fan of your artwork. I need to honestly express my frustration about how things have been handled today especially as a minor myself. Instead of addressing the issues head-on, it seems like there’s a pattern of enabling behavior that ultimately reflects poorly on all of us. This isn’t just about you k9; it’s about fostering accountability and growth, and right now, that’s not happening.

Moreover, the way this has been approached has made me feel undervalued and disrespected. I’m here trying to support and advocate for what’s best, but instead, I’m being met with defensiveness and disregard. It’s disheartening, and I believe we all need to be on the same page if we want to create a positive environment.

The way you and your staff team are handling your mistakes is not just hurtful to your reputation and community but also wildly ineffective. All it is doing is making this more incriminating. By enabling the notion to avoid hard conversations just because they are *hard* to deal with isn't okay and all you are doing is subconsciously teaching yourself and your fan base that it's okay to hide from reality just because it's uncomfortable and not at all how to real world works.

I have noticed many instances and have given proof of them where these mistakes were brushed aside or excused cause it was uncomfortable to face the truth. Putting a metaphorical veil over your errors and pretending they don’t exist may seem in the moment the best thing to do but this is actually a genuine disservice. It’s time to own up and recognize that making mistakes isnt a disease and is a part of life just like discomfort is as we are only human. If you keep shielding yourself from discomfort you are setting yourself up for a harsh reality check in the future and from experience it wont be pretty.

The reality is that life is full of challenges and if you don’t teach yourself to face them now you’ll struggle even more down the line. You as someone who has a platform, a large one at that should be promoting resilience, critical thinking, self awareness, and ownership of your actions.

Im not only saying this cause i myself am upset but because i genuinely care about this community and its future and believe its time you start being more honest and changing your approach to these kinds of tickets and it starts with the uncomfortable and unavoidable trusts. lets focus on faces our own actions head on rather than suffocating and coddling them. Making mistake are normal and i wasnt trying to make you out to be a bad person for it.”

See videos reblogged before this for context.

[blue2jay]

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Accidental Insult

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Summary:Your family(Mother and Sister)makes a rude joke at your expense, assuming you won’t defend yourself. Leon doesn’t laugh, his calm but deadly glare silencing the room as he gives a cutting response in your defense

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“Accidental Insult”

The dining room was lively with chatter, the table filled with food and half-hearted small talk. You sat beside Leon, feeling a little out of place as your mother and sister took turns dominating the conversation. It wasn’t unusual—these dinners always seemed to revolve around Melissa and whatever praise your mother could heap on her.

“So, Melissa,” your mother began, her smile overly bright, “how’s David handling the new renovations? He’s such a hard worker, unlike—well…” Her gaze flickered to you briefly before she trailed off, the implication clear.

You tensed, your hand freezing mid-reach for your glass. You didn’t need her to finish to know who the “unlike” was aimed at. Leon noticed immediately, his grip on his fork tightening slightly as he glanced at you.

Melissa, clearly encouraged, smirked as she took a sip of wine. “Well, at least I don’t have to rely on Leon to carry me, right?” She snickered, and your mother joined in with a soft laugh. “Honestly, Y/N, how did you convince someone like him to stick around?”

The room went still, their laughter echoing awkwardly as Leon set his fork down with a deliberate clink. His blue eyes, usually warm and steady, turned ice-cold as he looked across the table.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice calm but chillingly sharp, “did I miss the joke?”

The laughter died instantly. Your mother blinked, caught off guard by his tone. “Oh, Leon, we were just teasing—Y/N knows we’re joking.”

Leon didn’t waver. He sat back in his chair slightly, his calm expression only amplifying the tension in the room. “I don’t see what’s funny about belittling someone you’re supposed to care about.” His words were soft, but the weight behind them was impossible to miss.

Melissa shifted uncomfortably. “We were just playing around. Y/N doesn’t mind—do you, Y/N?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Leon was quicker, his gaze locking onto Melissa like a storm brewing. “I mind.”

The two words hit like a hammer, the room falling completely silent.

Leon leaned forward slightly, his tone unrelenting but never raised. “Y/N doesn’t need to ‘convince’ me of anything. She’s the most capable, kind, and resilient person I know. If anyone here is lucky, it’s me—and I’d suggest you stop pretending otherwise.”

Your mother shifted in her seat, flustered. “Leon, we didn’t mean—”

“You did,” he cut her off, his eyes never leaving hers. “You meant every word. But let me make one thing clear—if “But let me make one thing clear—if you think tearing her down makes you look better, it doesn’t. All it does is show how little you understand her worth.”

The room was deathly quiet. Your mother’s mouth opened and closed like she wanted to respond but couldn’t find the words. Melissa shrank back slightly, suddenly far less smug under Leon’s sharp, unflinching gaze.

Leon leaned back again, his voice softening slightly, though his edge remained. “Y/N has done more for the people around her—myself included—than you’ll ever realize. She’s not the punchline to your jokes, and I won’t sit here and pretend otherwise.”

The silence hung heavy, no one daring to break it. You glanced at Leon, your chest tight with both gratitude and awe. He wasn’t angry—not exactly. It was the calm certainty of his words that rattled everyone in the room. He meant every syllable, and they all knew it.

Your mother, clearly uncomfortable, cleared her throat and reached for her glass. “Well, I suppose it’s good you care so much, Leon,” she muttered, though her usual sharpness was nowhere to be found.

Your sister didn’t dare say anything, choosing instead to stare down at her plate, her earlier smugness completely wiped away.

Across the table, your grandmother finally spoke, her voice breaking the tense quiet like a breath of fresh air. “Well, I’ll say it,” she declared, her tone firm but warm as she looked at you. “Y/N doesn’t need anyone to defend her, but it’s about time someone reminded you all of her value. Leon, you’re a good man.”

Leon gave her a small nod, his expression softening. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Your grandfather grunted approvingly from his seat, crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk. “About time someone shut them up.” He turned to you then, his gaze gentle. “Don’t let them make you doubt yourself, Y/N. You’ve got more grit and heart than most people I know.”

You smiled faintly, warmth blooming in your chest as you whispered, “Thanks, Grandpa.”

Leon turned to you, his hand reaching for yours under the table and squeezing it gently. When he looked at you, his expression was completely different—soft, reassuring, and full of love. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, your heart swelling as you whispered back, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

The rest of dinner passed in awkward silence, your mother and sister subdued for the first time in ages. Leon kept his calm demeanor throughout, though his hand never left yours, a constant reminder of his support.

As you and Leon walked out of the house later that night, you couldn’t help but smile up at him. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

Leon stopped, turning to face you fully as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes, I did. You deserve better than their jokes, and I’m not going to let anyone—family or not—make you feel small.”

Your smile grew as you leaned into him, resting your forehead against his chest. “Thank you for always standing up for me.”

Leon wrapped his arms around you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Always, Y/N. You’re worth it.”

And in that moment, you knew it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. With Leon by your side, you had someone who saw your worth—someone who loved you exactly as you were.

[wishcamper]

No question just reminding you that your writing makes a difference and I love both your analysis series and your fic! If it's something you're interested in exploring, I would love to hear your thoughts on how pop psychology and over reliance on short form content lead to community issues. For years there's been a trend of people with surface level knowledge using out of context buzzwords to police and shame people who dare have symptoms they're not 100% in control of.

Wow, such a kind thing to say! I often feel like I’m bashing my head against my own fist so I’m glad to know something worthwhile is coming out of it lol

An interesting question, and I would first ask: do we know that this is happening? The general mental health-ification of the internet has been happening for a few years now, and it’s sort of hard to know the effects given it’s still an evolving situation. But I’ll speak to some things I’ve seen personally that might be relevant.

The first is that people, and particularly young people, are more mental health literate than they have ever been. This is largely good! AND - TikTok and other social media has become kind of like WebMD for mental health disorders and relational dysfunction. Because of this, a lot of people fall down the self-diagnosis rabbit hole in the same way. And sometimes that’s helpful when it motivates people to seek treatment, but can be harmful because of the vast amount of misinformation on the internet. And treatment is still very inaccessible due to cost and availability, leaving people to go it alone with unvetted resources. So we have a climate where people are aware of mental health issues, there’s lot of misinformation, and credible help is hard to get. This is a breeding ground for pop psychology and therapy influencers to take root.

So to your questions: I do see a lot of folks using (and misusing) clinical terms in irl situations. Its part of the reason I hate that mental healthcare is so embedded in the medical systems because everything gets shoehorned into diagnostic labels when it’s not necessary. Some top culprits include boundaries, gaslighting, triggers, as well as diagnoses like BPD, NPD, DID, etc.

Ex: gaslighting is often thrown around when people disagree. Someone remembering something different than you is not abuse - the more likely reality is that human memory is complex and bad. Gaslighting is a deliberate tactic used to make you question your memory/sanity. It requires intent to deceive.

Ex: Narcissistic Personality Disorder is a medical diagnosis that requires a person to experience distress and loss of functioning from the consequences of their compulsively self centered behavior. Sometimes people are just being assholes. A person treating you badly doesn’t require a diagnosis. But labels can make people feel more oriented and in control, because YOURE the bad/wrong/sick one and therefore I don’t have to look at myself.

I think this has two effects:

1. An overly cognitive view and experience of human behavior that pathologizes normal, messy multi-faceted reactions and interactions in an effort to find a sense of security and predictability via control.

2. A lower tolerance for productive conflict and adverse experiences that robs people of opportunities to build resilience and experience meaning from the suffering that visits us all at some point or other.

In fandom spaces, I think this shows up as an unwillingness to question why we react to things the way we do, why certain things make us uncomfortable instead of immediately rejecting them wholesale. There’s valuable information in the things that chafe us, and so much of the work I do with folks is about being brave and actively seeking that information in a safe, contained space. It’s a vulnerable thing, and it’s natural for our defensive responses to get activated (fight, flight, freeze, and fawn). and my totally unfounded theory is that the folks who are being vicious and keyboard warriory are defaulting to a fight response: be scary to make the thing stop. It’s a self-protection strategy at its core, but it fandom spaces it translates as bullying because well.. it is. They’re trying to defend a space, even an online one, by trying to be scary enough not to fight with.

Art is inherently self-reflective, both in the making of and the interacting with, where consumption is about satisfaction. My hope is that in fandom we can move toward creation as a conversation instead of as a product that does or does not fulfill what someone is looking for. I think there will always be demand for super tropey, digestible, just for fun content and that’s great, but I also would love to see more folks be willing to engage with things that make them uncomfortable in an effort to find out why. That’s the kind of fandom I’m interested in being a part of. For some people it’s never going to be that deep, but I’d like to think in my little corner that’s the kind of stuff we get excited about.

[elliott-the-creature]

12, 15, 19 and 24 for the ask game!!!!

12. What’s some good advice you want to share?

hmmm… that’s kinda tricky. I’d say, don’t be afraid to reinforce your boundaries. many people tend to pressure you into doing things you don’t feel comfortable with, or do and say things that are against what you believe in. if that happens, don’t be scared to tell them “hey, I don’t like it when you do/say that, can you please stop?”. there’s been many a time where reinforcing my boundaries could’ve prevented something bad from happening, but I was such a people pleaser that I convinced myself that I was just being weak and/or narrowminded for having boundaries, and let people step over me and make me uncomfortable. and this goes for anyone! just because this person is really close to you doesn’t mean they should get away with being a jerk.

15. What do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

I think of my warm, cozy room, and being safe from all the things that make me upset and angry. I also think of my family, and that they all care about me and I care about them. at times, I think about the places that make me feel happy and safe, like the woods in my city and the mountains I go to on roadtrips.

19. Favourite thing about the day?

I would say my favourite thing about the day is how alive everything feels. the sun is shining (if it’s sunny, that is), the wind is carrying dozens of smells and sounds, and everything is moving and interacting with the world. even when there are different weathers (like, if it’s raining), you can still feel the vitality and energy of the world, and it makes me really appreciate living. (sounds kinda hippy like, but that’s just me lol)

24. What’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

oooh… that’s tough. I would probably have to say I’m proud of my ability to swim. I was always a pretty good swimmer, but I taught myself how to be more resilient and conserve my stamina, which makes me able to swim more and dive deeper underwater. I’ve also learned from some other people how to hold my breath for longer, which has helped a lot. I can now (almost) consistently hold my breath for 1 minute and 10-20 seconds, and right now my goal is to hold it for 1 minute and 30-40 seconds consistently. I can also tread water for about 10-15 minutes depending on my energy level. I’m still kind of a slow swimmer, but I can go for longer periods without taking breaks, so that’s cool :)

[mamaspeckles]

I’ll be okay sweetheart ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you and thank you all for your concern and care, it really does make me feel so loved and special

We’ve already figured out who it was that sent me that message, amongst other messages that she’s sent. Her name’s Daisy and she was someone that I thought I could trust in my discord group chat. I feel betrayed and hurt if I’m being honest….but we’ve confronted her and to make a long story short? She’s doubled down about how she just got jealous because? “I was able to make a genuine connection with someone”? Which I don’t understand? I thought I had a real connection with her like I did with my other discord friends and like I did with you? A part of me feels disappointed with myself that I didn’t see this sooner. I feel like I could’ve helped her so she didn’t feel like she had to do this ☹️ A part of me feels guilty because she’s completely cut herself off from all of us and she’s just deleted all of her social media’s and I feel so anxious that I’ve caused all of this 😞

But I want to preface and really drill in that this has NOTHING to do with you!!!! She’s unfortunately always been a very jealous person. And it doesn’t bring me any joy to say this, but I think she’s always been very jealous of me in particular. I don’t think she’s ever really been a genuine person, and I feel stupid that I didn’t see this sooner. It’s made me feel more difficult to trust people…..but I trust you and very very much ❤️❤️❤️❤️

I’m so so sorry that because of me and my bullshit I’ve potentially brought on any stress and worries. This was the LAST thing that I wanted when I started sending little headcanons and stories, I just wanted to bring some comfort and happiness. But if you’re still okay with it, the Woman fanfic will be finished as soon as possible ❤️❤️❤️ I won’t stop unless you want me to ❤️❤️❤️

I'm really sorry you had to go through that, it sounds incredibly tough. But please don't blame yourself for Daisy's actions. You're such a kind and genuine person, and it's clear how much you care about your friends and making others happy including me. I appreciate everything you do and send me, and I want you to know that I support you fully💋. And if it ever came to it, I'd absolutely stand by your side and literally bitch fight Daisy for you idc😩 Remember, you're not responsible for Daisy's actions or how she chose to handle her jealousy she is toxic and doesn’t deserve anything nice until she learns how to grow up. please don't let her actions shake your trust in others. You have a genuine connection with so many people, including me, and that's something special.❤️ I admire your resilience and your determination to continue spreading happiness despite the challenges you're facing. Keep being the amazing person you are, and know that I'm here to support you through it all.💕 I will also keep on repeating what I been saying and that is “ I never felt uncomfortable or harassed by gramma and absolutely love and even feel flustered when she sends me stories! I love gramma and gramma loves me!”

And If it ever comes the day I find this putas burras Tumblr page i will faça-a sentir o que ela fez você se sentir e faça-a chorar como um bebê grande. No one messes with gramma or anyone that I care about. Go get some form of help Daisy. Ya clearly need it. If you were that jealous and butt hurt ya could’ve said it on call to grammas face instead of like I said using a anonymous proxy you coward. I am sick of seeing people like you hurt kind and funny souls like gramma. I won’t be more controlled with my words if this happens again. Count your days cadela.

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

[womanlives]

“IF I HAD A FUCKIN’ SILVER — ” a flash of that self-same word as Mercy dances a coin across the backs of her knuckles “ — for every time I got to see a bad bitch sit on the throne of the fucker who wronged her — “

Flick, toss! Flip, catch. Mercy holds it up to the moonlight that filters through a crack in the ceiling of Moonrise Towers. Or what remains of it. She grins. It’s pretty, even though it shouldn’t be.

“ — I’d have two silvers. Which isn’t a lot, but.” A shrug. “Kinda weird it’s happened twice.” The silence that creeps in after feels sacrilegious. Just like the drow woman, curled back on Ketheric’s uncomfortable-ass throne, feels sacrilegious. Mercy likes that. Mercy invites that. She’s sick to death of this place. This tower, this cult, this underground trial-temple, this cursed land, all of it. Myrkul, and Bane, and whoever the last motherfucker is. Shar.

All of it.

“Anyway.” Mercy rubs her face. It’s perfect-looking, but her fingers come away grimy anyway. Her eyes meet Minthara’s, search for something they’ll not even sure how to find, and narrow. She pockets the coin, sighs. Drops down to her knees in front of the throne, and takes a seat on the cold, blood-stained floor. She’s not kneeling. They both know it. For once there are no gods in this room. They have gone, and taken with them everything, and left nothing but spite and betrayal behind.

That’s okay. Mercy can’t speak so much for betrayal, but spite is very resilient.

She plants her hands on the rubble and leans back. Her head tilts. “Y’know,” she says conversationally, casually, as if it hasn’t been scant hours since the fight for their lives, “I thought we’d fight more — more — fuck. Wait.” A pause; she runs her tongue over her upper lip, thinking. But she’s too damn tired and it doesn’t matter. Fuck it. The illusion flickers and drops. There she sits in all her glory, highlighted by a solitary moonbeam: hair half-burned off, dozens of cuts, nails dirtied and split. There’s a bite mark on the underside of her jaw where a necromite tried to get her. It’s hard to tell where her makeup ends and the dirt begins. She points.

“You don’t just fight like you got people to kill. You still fight like you got something to lose.”

Her hand drops back to the dirt. Muscles hurt. Too tired.

“Gods, I’m jealous. I’d ask, but you’re just gonna tell me to go fuck myself, aren’t you?” A guess? A prophecy? A dare? Hard to tell. For once it comes out so damn compassionate.

@n1ghtwarden gets khajiits wares

[testajuliejane]

20 Something Woes

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on how common it is for people in their late 20s, like myself, and early 30s, to feel overwhelmed by criticisms. I often wonder: am I too reactive, or maybe even overreacting, when people criticize me? One memory that stands out is when I was maligned and slandered by a coworker, someone much older, who seemed to take a particular disliking to me. She was a middle-aged, single woman, and for some reasons including a very low emotional intelligence, low self-esteem, and extreme insecurities, treated me with disdain when I was just starting out at 23.

That hateful, envious spirit propagated among the members of her like-minded circle. Before long, the jealous sentiments of other disgruntled co-workers began to surface, each expressing their own frustrations in countless undesirable ways like maligning and ostracizing me, or attempting to block any learning opportunities for me. And it appears that they do these things probably for these reasons: not having lived their best lives in their 20s, feeling threatened by outdated or insufficient credentials, fearing that their younger counterparts are more equipped, living with regret, worrying that their children may not fulfill the dreams they once had for themselves, or dealing with a troubled family life.

Looking back, it felt like my age and potential success made people uncomfortable, especially those older than me. There seemed to be a fear that I might achieve something they hadn’t. It wasn't just my perception—many of my peers, especially those who perform at a high level, have shared the same sentiments and similar experiences in their respective workplace. It’s strange to think that my accomplishments, like graduating cum laude and earning the highest licensure exam rating among my coworkers, would make me a target, even though I’ve always tried to stay low-key. I never bragged about anything nor paraded any of my achievements. In fact, those are things of the past -- something that no longer weighs heavily in my present life. But ironically, my quiet nature, my tendency to stay reserved, has also been a point of criticism, as if my silence is something people don’t know how to handle. The more I tried to stay private, the more they craved for information as if I am more than worthy of their energy and attention.

These people even dig relentlessly into my personal life and personal whereabouts when I take vacation leaves and eavesdrop through private conversations, making me even more cautious with what I share. (If one of those people came across this page and this particular post, Wow! That person has a different level of obsession that he/she even found his/her way here. Whew!)

🎶...you wanna piece of me...🎶

But, what can I be grateful for in all this?

Despite the negativity, these experiences have taught me valuable lessons. I’ve learned to stay resilient, to keep striving for excellence despite the noise around me. Perhaps, some people in this life stage have to go through this phase. These are character-refining situations. The criticisms have forced me to reflect, to grow, and ultimately, to practice humility. These experiences give me an opportunity to be forgiving and to show love as Jesus commands me as a Christian to love my enemies. It's difficult to do these things but my situation provides me an avenue to practice this radical approach of Christianity in dealing with earthly life. I’m learning that I don’t have to react to every unkind word, that being misunderstood or criticized doesn’t diminish my worth or potential. I can be grateful that these challenges are shaping my character and helping me to become more compassionate toward others who face similar struggles and even toward my offenders who may be going through silent struggles. It has been said, "Hurt people hurt people." But as a healed child of God, I can be a person who could bring healing. After all, we all need grace. In this situation, I am being trained to trust in God's protection and to trust that He will fight my battles on my behalf. I am also learning the principle of The Audience of One -- to only seek the approval of my God Who is my Ultimate Master. I am being grounded in my identity as a Child of God the Most High. I am grateful that I have never been the same. Above all, these experiences remind me to keep my eyes on the bigger picture—my purpose, my growth, and my faith.

[put-it-somewhere]

"i hate myself"

The unlearning of compulsively referring to myself as insecure or self hating has been a reluctant undertaking in sobriety. For many of  those who share my experiences and diagnoses, it is not uncommon that the notion of no longer hating oneself is vastly more uncomfortable than assuming you still do. I, like many others, found consistency and comfort in general suffering, it was familiar to me emotionally. Finding that you may not truly hate yourself as you once so certainly did comes with a kind of existential loss, there are many people who would prefer to go on suffering than admit to change. I hate myself can feel like a weird gritty badge of honor, I say “feel,” because the statement is almost never perceived by the listener as it is by the speaker. It suggests cynicism, which somebody out there is associating with intelligence, it feigns self awareness that the speaker assumes is interpreted as wise and resilient. This partial grab at superiority and respect is shadowed by the statement’s primary result; pity. To the person stating “I hate myself,” it is likely true that they’ll express that they don't actually want pity, that they’re simply brave enough to be real. What they don’t realize is that the pity response varies; sure, plenty of people feel sorry for the individual sad enough to feel so negatively about themself, but a whole other plenty feel sorry for the individual sad enough to repeat the phrase as a desperate flag for attention. Once I became aware of the latter, however familiar the idea of hating myself was, I could no longer feel that believing it was still in style. This isn’t my description of a white light moment, the realization comes after the action. I went to meetings, rehab, work, and I engaged in my life of my own volition in a way that sought to improve and preserve it. Maybe I wasn’t exactly keeping track of it at the time, but my efforts were not working towards hating myself further. It can be upsetting to admit that those all consuming and seemingly life defining years of endured sadness and pain have come to a momentary end, at least constant suffering is constant something. Entering the ups and downs of relative normalcy appears alien and unpredictable, you’re ever suspicious of the highs and you’re overly accommodating of the lows. I made decisions to change and improve my life out of desperation, it felt almost too sudden to see that newness was there, and many people squirm and bolt at the realization. Particularly in the case of eating disorders, people who have spent periods of their life in a delirious fixation with their body, almost always built around the idea of I hate my body, their loss of their self perception extends beyond the mental and into the physical. Standards of beauty and how one is expected to navigate it multiply from every angle, but I won’t be getting into the socialization and gender specifics. One thing we are made to understand is the undesirable nature of “vanity.” Narcissism is used loosely, and the idea of self confidence or self love is beside it on a blurred fine line. No longer hating myself for my identity and personality was not met with the same intense shame in feeling overly self obsessed that not hating my appearance was. You’re just not supposed to think you’re the shit, that’s what it boils down to. But, no longer interested in claiming I still truly dislike my appearance, I’ll selectively state, on occasion; “I’m physically attractive.” I don’t need to get down to the details each time, I don’t need to cite catcalls and pickups and whispers, I can log my external data and every once in a while I can share my analysis.  Because I do think I’m attractive, and while I can feel the shame in my shoulders when I say it, I know I’m not using it to hurt anyone, so why the fuck should it matter?

[unwanteddiaryofpallas]

Puke

I wanna throw up and spill all my guts out then stare at it as I feel myself succumbing to nothing.

Why so vulgar you ask? I’m not sure either. I’ve always been attached to things that push the limits of society, for good or for worse. I grew up exposed to uncomfortable and disgusting things—to which the adults will blame me for. Yes, ‘cause 6 year old me knew that torture was a bad thing! Definitely not normal to me ‘cause my own mom would hit me! Of course it is my fault.

I hate spilling my guts. I have no medium to do it to. You can argue writing, but god is it unhelpful. My thoughts grow more and more violent towards myself as I type.

I’m tired of living off of depression. God, “normal” people have it easy.

If I had a kid, I don’t want them to feel different. If they do, I’ll say that there are also other kids who feel different, but doesn’t mean they’re bad. Or something like that. I’ll work on it. I’ll work on me until I can raise child and be satisfied about it.

My brain is mush. I don’t wanna think. My fingers are doing all the work. Drawn to a letter and to another.

I wrote something after a reel my friend sent. A writing challenge it was. Here it is:

“Madness is a state past broken—madness is I / I am beneath all, when I stare down at an audience / For I am a spectacle and an object to be watched / Even when I shine, i am but a diamond around somebody’s finger / I am madness because I can no longer be saved”

Reading back to it, it makes no sense, but oh well.

It’s hard being randomly sad. Many people I know want a reason to be sad. They are the also the very same people that need to hear a reason when somebody else is sad. It’s dumb. You can’t be sad without reason according to people who either don’t have to deal with episodes AND people who are the same but lacked a support system. I feel sadder now.

Life’s hard. No one can say it’s easy. It’s always at a scale of difficulty. People can only have it least difficult and not easy, because why are we a species that advanced through perseverance, resilience and curiosity if some of us live in easy mode? It’s like creative mode in Minecraft, there are no achievements if it’s played easily. But of course, extreme hardship is also not a good thing.

I wish somebody will change the world. More understanding, kind, accepting, smart (not cunning) and passionate. Like world world, not like (disclaimer: these things are GOOD, just showcasing what I DIDN’T mean) raising awareness, donating needs and goods, and homing those who need it.

Anyway, I’m gonna puke. I haven’t eaten well. I only eat well outside, but that’s thanks to my lover. Otherwise, I’d be dead by starvation lol. Maybe life will be kinder, when nothing matters and I’ve dissipated. But I have hope. I want to have more hope. So I can finally not be whatever I am right now.

I need to puke 💀💀

[asteroidpuppy]

I have finally curated the perfect “list” to guide my own behavior with. Here are some recently developed personal rules, observations, and revelations:

• It is okay to express myself even if I’m feeling wonky because expression is literally to show what’s inside and if you’re wonky on the inside then the outside better match..

• Remember comfort exists in this reality. Hot brewed tea, coziness, my cat, friendship, the sky, feeling cold, reading something immersive, exploring all day. It’s okay to take your time. Most conversations are starting to unfortunately feel AI coded with only dialogues from vreakup movie?s???

• I think I am psychic, but I think I am paranoid. Really, usually, I “know” both of them to be true… simultaneously?

• I do feel a special calling, but I also feel sorry for myself too often. I will only advance if I can improve my confidence

• No more feeling sorry for myself! I got through so much and now I want to act like a kicked puppy when one little thing doesn’t go my way. Perfectionism has been really suffocating me. Nothing will ever be perfect and life is about learning

• I am addicted to social media and I want to get off of it. All of it. I’m thinking of what I would miss and it’s not much. I’m thinking of negative side effects and there really don’t seem to be any. It’s really time to spend time with myself, besides I have friends to hang out with in real life! I think one huge thing stopping me is that I want to eventually post my art but there’s no reason I couldn’t come back just to post my art.

• If I can exercise self-discipline throughout each small fork in the road consistently then everything about myself is in the palm of my own hand.

• Small things to feel more comfortable as myself:

- Develop a strict morning routine including hydration, exercise, hygiene, dressing, reading. IN THAT ORDER!

- Clothes not worn more than twice, clothes always clean and organized, bedclothes always clean.

- Cleans up after self as the mess is made

- Back to smudgy sinkhole eyes and constant beanie

- Read books, watch movies, draw, exercise, explore, play, do puzzles, research something new. Don’t waste your life on social media because you WILL regret it

- Wear one each small piece of jewlery on each body

- Do heavy research again on things like theology, physics, neuroscience, anthropology, astronomy, sociology, etc.

• RELAX. Do things because you WANT TO. Nobody is forcing you to do shit, every single thing you do is a separate choice made by YOU. Nobody else can decide for you.

• I am my own ghost possessing my body. When my mother tried to kill me at age 11, I did start to die. I felt myself “let go” but I never passed and have since been uncomfortably familiar with the feeling of death. Even before that, I was obsessed with the concept. When I was saved, I got dragged back into myself like a garbage disposal. Since then I have been operating it poorly, like a trade bus driver trying to pilot an airplane. I already transcended from human to ghost before I re-entered my vessel. No amount of exorcism will solve this because I am the rightful owner of this vessel, although this transformation did permanently kill the essence of my own humanity. It is the true origin of my “psychic” abilities and This explains most of my health issues, my aversion to the regular processes of the body (i.e. sleeping, peeing, eating, drinking water, seeking safety) which also demonstrates my resilience in the face of neglect.

[healinghoneybee]

No shit I never thought of that... This is surviving

Tonight I am feeling so much compassion for the people that struggle to do things they logically know they “should” do. Someone told me to just forget it and move on. It’s like Biiiiitch you don’t think I tried that? You think I want to be breaking my no contact once again to ask why you couldn’t just apologize for hurting me and letting me down? You think I want to be hurting over you and want to feel insecure again? I go to therapy, take courses on healing from heartbreak, do the innerchild work, do yoga, do the breathing, talk to my inner parts, read the self-help books listen to the podcasts, try to make the to do lists to practice what I learn, ALL THE SHIT. I took off work to focus on self-care. What more do you want from me. If you only saw how hard I am trying to heal from my past. If you could be in my shoes for 2 seconds and know why and that my body and mind sometimes WON’T LET ME do the things I logically know I need to do. The issues are in our tissues, Bitch. I am trying to get it out of me and relax my nervous system. I meditate that I am safe. I have SO MUCH compassion for those that can’t��“just move on” or do the healthy coping mechanism. I was told I had “post traumatic stress” symptoms 9 years ago. If only you knew how hard I try to heal. I’ve been trying for 9 years. Lately I don’t have the energy to constantly be resilient and put together. Sometimes I just fall apart or I send the message (maybe problematic but maybe expressing my truth of what I need to say and was unresolved, I don’t trust your opinion). Lately I am a mess sometimes because I am healing from scars and sometimes I fail. Or maybe it’s not failing because apparently my counsellor says the sticky feelings are getting worked out and to be grateful for the uncomfortable release. I hope so. I know this moment of struggle doesn’t represent all that I am. I was doing so well until I got pushed back to survival mode. I know I am more than this flare-up of symptoms or my emotions. And guess what? I’m gonna have compassion for you if you ever fall apart like a granola bar, cause I been there. And I also have so much empathy and compassion and love and care from my experience and that love will be a gift to someone someday and to my friends already. I will keep trying to heal and I won’t give up and I WILL SURVIVE. I will get back to how powerful I felt last summer and make it out of the tunnel inch by goddamn inch and the light at the end will be even BRIGHTER than I can imagine. I believe in the gifts this will bring. I will feel powerful on my own again. Or find a balance and chillness with someone that brings out my softness. I deserve love that is healing, that I don’t have to work so hard to heal from. You don’t know what this experience is like, so don’t judge me on how long it takes. I have one life to live and I won’t let them have it and I may mess up a lot but God knows I am trying. I have a lot to unlearn from being socialized and trained as a woman to doubt myself and feel like I am too much or not enough no matter what I do. But I believe in my best self. I am forced to learn self-compassion and patience and self-acceptance and self forgiveness and love for myself despite all odds because if I didn’t I would not fucking be here. I am resilient. I am trying. So don’t say some condescending one-liner about what I need to do. I’ve probably fucking thought of it. I probably was hard on myself for failing to do it and worked to forgive myself and now I need to be gentle to myself. I’ve learned to be gentle to myself and others. But when I’m backed into a corned I might mess up and lash out or get harsh but I come back to the lesson of my anger and the importance of being gentle and I try again and I apologize. It’s not my fault you could not apologize so we could not have a better ending. I tried to repair it but it felt like you invalidated and dismissed my pain and didn’t take accountability for your action that did hurt me and did the thing that would trigger the second wound of re-victimization, which is real and the truth and is a big part of why I am still struggling. But that was not inevitable. I believe I can heal with the right words, the right community, the right actions and kindness and time and my own love. I messed up and reached out and I couldn’t fall asleep, so what. If you don’t want to be friends, I hear that now and I will start no contact and try again tomorrow when the sun comes up. Society can take its victim-blaming judgement and not-so-generous view of me/my actions and know-it-all toxic positivity and shove it right up your ass. I am not victimizing myself like you implied - I am not a victim. I don’t make myself into one and you can’t make me into one. I am a survivor and this is surviving.

[juniperfrancislee2]

2022. I think I lived an entire year in a single inhale… a year that unearthed the truth of my mettle…a year that felt as if I was looking outward from within my essence. The year began with hearing the guiding voice of intuition directing me towards silence, so I grew quieter and quieter. The silence extended to social media…and then I gradually put all cameras down and experienced the rapture of the moment in all its width and depth, that otherwise would’ve been captured through a finite scope…that then forced me out of my writing comfort zone…processing thoughts, emotions, and memories without pen, or paper, nor keyboard. This was a year of allowing myself to be uncomfortable and uncertain, and being honest about how those feelings troubled and altered me. I knew that leaning into my path of enlightenment would gift me fortitude and resilience, so I could construct a new define for strength and for self. I am so grateful I welcomed such change, as it has truly been advantageous. I’m ready to exhale that breath I’ve been holding and welcome the revitalization it brings.

I don’t know what form you will take 2023, nor the mood you will be in…it would seem, based on years past, that history likes to seat humanity at the head of the table for the smorgasbord of evils unleashed on the world as a direct result of Pandora’s curiosity. I think it’s time for humanity to get up from that table and follow the winged, feathered sound of hope. Andy Dufresne wrote it best to Red in The Shawshank Redemption, “…hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.” I’m keeping my hands, heart, and mind open, not only for hope to alight upon in times of personal question and trial, but for the resounding, collective of hope to set the world alight. It’s time to reclaim the grandeur of joy in all its forms, be they minute or infinite, and to share that joy with friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers alike.

I’m not going to offer predictions for the new year, but I know what I hope for all. May 2023 see you embrace loving yourself and welcome the idea that you are a work in progress, and not a state of regress. May 2023 present you the opportunity to bare witness to miracles, the phenomena of life, the enigmatic workings of the universe, and the vibrational energy of our star-infused bodies and souls. May 2023 be exactly what you need it to be.

— Juniper Francis Lee, 12/31/2022

[femsolid]

“We’re in 2019. Female hair is CENSORED everywhere. You don’t see it on TV. You don’t see it in magazines or adverts. There is an injunction of society for women to remain 'soft' and completely hairless. Just like a little girl. I don’t believe that’s a coincidence. Young, skinny, hairless girls have been very popular in the media for years and it makes me wonder. Who's behind it all? Who's perpetuating this message about women looking like adolescent girls? It sometimes feels rather paedophilic. It worries me.” – Camille Alexander. Musician (2019)

“Years ago I did think about getting laser hair removal for my navel hair, but then I realised I'd be paying a couple of hundred pounds just to conform to expectations that I don't even care about– I'd much rather use the money for a holiday or circus lessons! I think that's one of the things which annoys me so much about society and the media's expectation for women to be basically hairless– they're pressuring us to invest serious time and money and endure pain. It's a double standard and it's unfair. Being able to accept your body– hair, scars and all– is freeing. I remember seeing my Aunt Glynis dancing to reggae in the 90s with her armpit hair showing– she looked so confident, happy and free. As a child, I couldn't put my finger on 'why', but I can now. On a practical level, it feels pretty darn good when I consider how much time, money and pain I've saved by accepting my body as it is. I like to think that that memory of my aunt being free and totally comfortable in her own skin is one that I can emulate and pass onto other girls and women. It hasn't always been received well though. At Lambeth County Fair one year, a friend of a friend was seriously freaked out when he saw my armpits. He asked me "what's wrong with you? Why would you do that?!", which was pretty amusing but bewildering. It reminded me there will always be people out there who may react and judge me like that. Thankfully, the opinion of people who think like that means very little to me! For me having hair and not caring is a bit like being part of a secret club. When you notice someone else who is resisting society's expectations and staying hairy you feel solidarity and respect. It's nice to be part of that.” – Isabel (2019)

“As a teenager, I remember trying to stuff myself into a box of what a girl should be like. It always felt uncomfortable; padded bras, shoes that hurt and shaving rash. Running, swimming and climbing have helped me to see the strength and resilience in my body and to love it for what it is. Growing my armpit hair has been a recent experiment and the longer it gets, the more I like it! I like the way it looks & feels. It has given me a new respect for myself. So I say, embrace growth & if it pleases you, let it all grow!” – Jess (2018)

“Shaving, epilating or waxing hurts. I was tired of suffering, trying to adapt to the image of a ‘beautiful young woman’ society is selling us. Everybody told me to shave. As a teenager, it’s a huge subject among girls; where do you shave? What method are you using? It takes so much time and costs so much money (the majority of hair removal products are also not recyclable). All of these reasons coming one after another motivated me to stop shaving. I would often have irritated skin after shaving and being a very sporty person, the sweat and the friction of my clothes would cause pain.The worst thing was having sex on the second day after shaving my vulva. I didn't understand why women would suffer and waste so much time on hiding who they really are. By showing my body hair on stage, I would like to stimulate and change people’s point of view. I’d like to motivate women to make their own choices.”

– Darian Koszinski. Circus artist (2018)

“I stopped shaving completely when I was a teenager because of two instances. The first? I got tired of all the time wasted on maintenance and the discomfort that came with it. The second was when I went on a few multiple week-long backpacking trips; it would have been extremely inconvenient to spend hours ripping my hair out, so I let things grow. Being so close to nature let me dive deeper into and re-examine the relationship with myself and the world, acting as a mirror. In nature, there is wild; it is as beautiful as it is untamed. How could it be anything other than that? I felt so relieved and free when I let it grow out. It felt like being able to breathe. It was incredibly comfortable too. I felt a confidence and boldness returning, like I was replenishing some kind of primal power. I will say that a very pleasant side effect of having armpit hair is its ability to ward off rude people whom I wouldn’t care to interact or associate with anyway. Because the people that care about that sort of thing and make it a point to say how disgusted they are, are precisely the kind of people that I don’t want in my life.”

– Kyotocat (2017)

“At this point in life, I feel that the real question shouldn't be 'why did you let your armpit hair grow?' But actually, 'why did you shave in the first place?' Please celebrate your body! Own who you are and be that! Those who celebrate who and what they are, are creating a much open and safer space for those who are struggling to understand who and what they want to be in life. It might be easier said than done but give it a try. We'll then help create a healthier and understanding society with less bullshit than there already is...”

– Alex Wellburn (2017)

“I never stopped shaving because I never started. I do remember my mother shaving when I was younger and I thought that was pretty unnecessary since she was a strict muslim. I later realised it's a thing women do to look more desirable to men. It really irritated me that the people who reacted negatively to my natural armpit hair were men. Like it was the most disgusting thing in the world. It really gets on my tits. This is just one more reason that I don't shave it off. It belongs to me and I don't make noise about the "ugly"; hair on men which are sometimes pretty painful in the eye... But you've got to get over it and don't let these idiots get under it. I would recommend growing it to any women.”

– Ayan Mohamed. Graduate architecture student (2014)

Natural Beauty Photoshoot

[midamoulweek]

midamoul week will run from sunday july 24 to saturday july 30

[image described in alt text]

guidelines:

tag your creations with  #midamoulweek and/or @ me @midamoulweek so i can reblog them!    —feel free to @ me again if you think i’ve missed your post! but i’m offline for decent chunks of the day so please give me at least 12 hours before you hit me up

all creations are welcome—art, fic, fanvids, meta, something i’ve failed to mention—whatever floats your boat!

nsfw content is fine but i won’t be reblogging or engaging with nsfw content from people i know to be minors

creators, please use your best judgment in providing content warnings and tagging nsfw content. on this blog i will be using the tag structure “#(trigger) cw.” nsfw content will be tagged #not sfw.

if you need something specific tagged, let me know and i will do my best to add warnings as needed.

on filling prompts: i am strongly of the opinion that if you start a project while thinking about a particular prompt, you absolutely get to consider the end result to be a successful fill no matter how off-track you’ve gotten. so please share your work even if you don’t think the final product fits the brief!

feel free to shoot me an ask if you have any questions or concerns!

ETA: if you finish a day 1 prompt on day 2 or day 3 or day 14 or whatever, please post it and @ me anyway! much like the prompts, the "week" is just a framing structure to get us talking. if you make something for the week, i'm sure we'd all love to see it no matter when you're able to get it done 

prompts:

each day has two prompts + a bonus prompt pulled from the quotes section of my notes app. use one, two, or all prompts to get started!

day 1 (july 24): identity / family

day 2 (july 25): forgiveness / outsider pov

day 3 (july 26):  regrets / cannibalism (survival or recreational)

day 4 (july 27): resurrection / kid-fic

day 5 (july 28):  date night / fix-it

day 6 (july 29): afterlife / alternate universe (i’m thinking cowboys, aliens, dare i say old-timey explorers stranded in the antartic hinterlands? —but alternate timelines&canon divergence count as well)

day 7 (july 30): resilience / storytelling

quote prompts under a cut for length

day 1: [T]he act of imagination is bound up with memory. You know, they straightened out the Mississippi River in places, to make room for houses and livable acreage. Occasionally the river floods these places. ‘Floods’ is the word they use, but in fact it is not flooding; it is remembering. Remembering where it used to be. All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was.

—Toni Morrison

day 2:

"Somebody," said Jacques, "your father or mine, should have told us that not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour - and in the oddest places! - for the lack of it."

—James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

day 3:

You know what? I don't want to express myself. I don't want to sit in a room full of people and say... the P-word. I like being repressed. I am totally comfortable being uncomfortable with my sexuality. And maybe, just maybe, if everyone were a little bit more like me, we wouldn't have to have an STD fair!

— Annie Edison, Community (NBC)

day 4:

I had this habit for a long time: I used to get in my car, and I would drive back to my old neighborhood, the old town I grew up in. And I’d always drive past, like, the old houses that I used to live in. And I’d do it, sometimes late at night, if I was — when I used to be up at nights. [laughs] And I got so I would do it really regularly, for — two, three, four times a week — for years. And I eventually got to wonderin’, what the hell am I doing?

And so I went to see this psychiatrist — this is true! — and I sat down, and I said, you know, “Doc, for years, I’ve been gettin’ in my car, and I drive back to my town, and I pass my houses late at night, and, you know…what am I doing?”

And he said, “I want you to tell me what you think you’re doing.”

[crowd laughs]

So I go, “That’s what I’m paying you for!”

So he says, “Well, what you’re doing is, there’s something bad happened. And you’re going back thinking that you can make it right. Something went wrong, and you keep going back to see if you can fix it, or somehow make it right.”

And I sat there, and I said, “That is what I’m doing.”

And he said, “Well, you can’t.”

— Bruce Springsteen, introing a song apparently

day 5:

What is a ghost? Something dead that seems to be

alive. Something dead that doesn’t know it’s dead.

— Richard Siken, “Landscape with Fruit Rot and Millipede”

day 6:

But, really, it's the most basic definition of "uncanny”—"unhomely”—that matters. The haunted house is precisely that which should be homey, should be welcoming—the place one lives inside--but which has somehow become emptied out of its true function. It is terrifying because it has lost its purpose yet stubbornly persists. Neither alive nor dead but undead, the haunted house is the thing in between. —Colin Dickey, Ghostland

day 7:

You’re old enough to understand that your father didn’t love you without being ridiculous about it.

—Tony Kushner, Angels in America

[sarah-bae-maas]

Gwyn wants to explore, and Azriel needs a friend - a Gwynriel fic - Part 1

In honour of this blog turning five years old, I thought I would treat you all to a two part/chapter Gwynriel fic that has been wandering around in my brain throughout countless days of lockdown and tortuous university classes. 

I’m already well underway with part 2 of this fic, but I do have some assignments coming up, so expect it within the fortnight! 

So please do enjoy this nearly 15k words worth of Gwynriel goodness <3

Masterlist Ao3

_____________

She was staring at him.

Again.

Azriel had always paid special attention to Gwyn – not that he would tell her that, of course. It was a secret held deep in his shadows that she was his favourite Valkyrie, the one he thought the most brave and resilient. It would not be an unpopular opinion if he did share it, the other women looked at her with great admiration, and Nesta often sung her praises when the female wasn’t there to refute her words. But Azriel knew the presumptions people might make if they knew he thought it, and the last thing he wanted was for a misunderstanding to make Gwyn uncomfortable.

Gwyn was holding a bag for Emerie to kick, her stance strong enough that she didn’t flinch at all with each pummel. Her focus should have been on Emerie’s form, but rather her teal eyes were glued to him. Every time Azriel looked over at her, she quickly shifted her gaze to her friend, but his shadows constantly reminded him that Gwyn was once again paying her attention to him.

Cassian called the end of the session. Azriel was grateful, he was finding it harder and harder to train the women effectively when he knew Gwyn was right there.

He practically fled the scene, his cheeks brushed with red, barely nodding to the women who said their thanks to him as he passed. It’s not that he didn’t like her attention, but it made his stomach feel heavy, his hands shake, and he didn’t like how out of control he felt whenever she looked at him like that.

He settled in the dining room. Standing, he braced his hands on the table, a bead of sweat dripping off his forehead and tarnishing the wood. Nesta wouldn’t like if he got his sweat all over the table, even though her and Cassian had coated it in far more scandalous bodily fluids. He should do something productive, like work or eat or pester Rhys and Feyre to have Nyx for the afternoon, but instead he chose to close his eyes and picture the person who’d been haunting him.

He and Gwyn were friends. She was over nearly every night to eat with Nesta, their dinners a sort of lively Azriel hadn’t experienced since he’d lived in Illyria with Rhys and Cas. It was joyful to live in a space filled with such light, but also overwhelming. Azriel found that as much as he loved the time with the rag-tag team they’d made for themselves, his social timer still clicked in his mind as a constant reminder that sometimes dealing with people, even the ones you loved, could be utterly exhausting.

Not with Gwyn though, his shadows lamented, setting him straight. No, Azriel never felt tired with her.

“Az?”

As though his thoughts alone had summoned her, Gwyn’s voice startled him out of his reverie. He turned, his lips parting slightly at the sight of her.

She was still in her training gear – a shirt and pants lovingly stitched by Emerie with embroidered flowers decorating the seams – her neat braid falling around her face, framing her pearlescent skin in fire.

“Gwyneth. Do you need something?”

Her eyes were wide, her hands clasped in front of her as she wrung her fingers. It made Azriel tilt his head in confusion, not understanding why she was so nervous. They spoke every day, she mouthed off at him often, and her shift in confidence had him surprised.

“I have a proposition for you, but you must promise to not tell a soul.”

Azriel raised a brow, leaning back into the table. He spread his hands before him. “I’m listening.”

Gwyn swallowed, her cheeks turning the same shade of red as her hair.

“Imsturbalt,” she squeaked.

“What?”

“I masturbate a lot!” She smacked her hands over her mouth, as if betrayed at the words they spilled.

Azriel’s jaw went slack, his eyes near bugging from his skull. “Okay… that’s good? Self-exploration!” He half-heartedly waved a celebratory fist in the air, not sure what to say to her statement.

She groaned louder than a stabbing victim. “I was thinking that, I didn’t intend to say it aloud.” She rubbed her hands over her face, peeking at him through her fingers. “Please don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Your secrets are safer with me than they are anyone else.” Azriel smiled, trying to diffuse the obvious tension in her body. “So, your proposition?”

She tensed her jaw, moving her arms behind and looking at the ground as she spoke. “I guess my previous statement that will never be mentioned again to anyone if you like having the functional use of your organsperhaps wasn’t entirely irrelevant to what I’m going to ask you. But I beg, please let me finish before you say anything, and also don’t feel pressured to say yes.”

“Okay.”

“Silence.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She grinned at him, her eyes finally meeting his again. “As you know, better than anyone really, I have a difficult past.”

Azriel wished he could burn the images of finding her on that table from his mind. He’d had to actively teach himself not to envision her crying and screaming for her sister when she’d first became a permanent fixture in House of Wind. He’s seen many horrific things in his time, was no stranger to the worst humanity had to offer, but it was different when it was someone so vulnerable, so selfless, so important to him. It might have made him a bad person that he didn’t equate people’s trauma accordingly, but how could he possibly care for a stranger as much as he cared for Gwyn?

“What happened to me made me fear my body. Fear the sexuality I see women like Nesta and Mor own. They’re so powerful, and the things that have happened to them… They’re not broken. They’re not less. They’re not afraid.” She paused, sighing deeply. “I would never look upon anyone in the library as lesser than because of the things that have happened to them. It wasn’t until I met Nesta and Emerie that I realised I didn’t give myself the same grace. I want to own the parts of me that were stolen. I want to feel like my body belongs to me. I didn’t even know where to begin, but then the House gave me this book, some fluffy romance novel, and the girl in it was just like me. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just felt so seen. Like the Mother herself had handed this smut piece into my lap to make me feel better.”

Gwyn moved to one of the lounge chairs that Cassian had haphazardly shoved into a corner one night when Nesta didn’t feel like moving from the dining room. Gwyn was effortlessly graceful as she sat and curled her legs up, her head resting on her fist.

“That’s where the masturbating comes in.” Her eyes avoided his again, focusing on patterns her fingers drew in the velvet material of the chair. “The girl in the book did it. She’d never had an orgasm either. So, I did too.” She laughed quietly. “It made me feel good. Not just the physical pleasure part, but the part where it was just me, empowering myself at a pace I was comfortable with.”

Azriel wished he could say something, but one, he knew to be silent and let her have this moment, and two, he didn’t know how to tell someone he was proud of them for touching themselves without it sounding weird. He was proud though, extremely so, at how strong she felt from acting on her wants. Her resilience had always astounded him.

“In the book, the girl meets this man.” Her voice lowered, barely more than a whisper. “He treats her so kindly, in a way that I’ve seen Cassian treat Nesta a million times, in a way I yearn to be treated. I’ve given myself a clean slate. This body, my body, has only been touched by me. I am whole. I was never broken, just healing. And I’m at a stage where I want more. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Azriel wished her could say yes, please the eager note in her voice that hoped he was on the same page as her, but even his shadows were silent to her desires.

She glanced at him just long enough to see him shake his head. She tipped her head back. “When Nesta first started sleeping with Cassian, I was so curious. What were they doing? What was he doing to make her look so satisfied? But when I tried to picture it, my stomach would churn. And then time passed. I grew stronger. I became a Valkyrie. And like many others before me and many more in the centuries to come, I walked in on Cassian and Nesta fucking.”

Azriel inhaled sharply. To hear the vulgarity fucking from a mouth so pure sent a bolt through him, and he chided himself for his inappropriate thoughts during such a serious conversation.

“They don’t know I saw, not that I think they would have minded. I would bet good money that if I asked for a demonstration on pleasurable acts Cassian and Nesta would be more than happy to comply. Where I might have once felt sick from seeing them, instead I felt-”

She cut herself off, looking for the right words.

“I felt burning desire. I’ve never been so envious of someone in my life. I didn’t want to have sex with Cassian, but by the Cauldron I wanted to feel the way that Nesta did. I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t know you were such a good secret keeper. Or such a good friend.”

Azriel couldn’t bite his tongue any longer. “Gwyn, what do you want from me?”

“I want you to have sex with me.”

***

Azriel stared at his ceiling, his shadows dancing and rolling around him.

I want you to have sex with me.

He tested the words on his own lips. They tasted sweet. They also brought an uncomfortable amount of pressure to his cock. He refused to touch it though and kept both his hands firmly behind his head.

He’d told Gwyn he needed to think about it, and she understood. She said she didn’t expect an answer from him straight away.

Azriel had a lot to consider.

He was practically titillated that when Gwyn had decided she wanted to explore herself with a male, it was him who she thought of. She expressed that it was because she knew he’d care for her, that he’d respect her and because of how much she trusted him. There were not words to express how hearing such things felt to him. It made him want to do this for her, because his soul be damned he knew he would do right by her. Make her feel good, feel special, feel appreciated.

It would be amiss though not to acknowledge that if he did do this, let her warm his bed while he tasted her, it could ruin not just the friendship they had established but also the dynamic of the house. She had assured him that if his answer was no, they would continue their lives as if the conversation never happened.

Which brought a darker thought to his mind.

If not Azriel, then who? She would surely approach someone else. Someone not deserving of her, who might not treat her how she deserved to be treated. That was not to say Azriel thought that in all his bastardly ways he was what Gwyn should have – no, she deserved more than he could ever give – but at least he knew that she would be safe with him.

The thought of another male’s hands on her made him see red.

That was answer enough.

***

Nesta and Cassian were gone for the weekend, caring for Nyx while Feyre and Rhys had a romantic getaway for the weekend. Azriel secretly thought Nesta was using this as a trial to see if her and Cassian were ready for a baby.

It was the perfect opportunity to have Gwyn join him.

The day after she’d approached him, he’d slipped her a note after training to say that he was all in, and to meet him the next night. He tried not to watch her face as she read the note but couldn’t help it. She went bright pink, but she seemed exhilarated.

And now she was standing in his room.

They nervously looked at each other. Azriel wanted to give her the chance to speak first other than their obligatory greetings, but she was tongue-tied.

“I was thinking we should take this in steps,” Azriel said, sitting on the edge of his bed, watching her refrain from pacing back and forth.

“That seems logical. What sort of steps?”

“I was thinking tonight we take sex off the table.”

“What?” Her face fell, hurt evident in her expression.

“Just for tonight. Gwyn, have you had your first kiss?”

She shook her head no.

“Then maybe we do that. And anything beyond only what you want. I need you to know that you’re in control here. Whatever we do or don’t do is completely your decision.”

She nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. “That sounds reasonable. Like you’re my little puppet.” Her hands mimed using a marionette, and Azriel found it easy to reciprocate her smile.

She moved to his side, planting herself on the bed next to him. He couldn’t help but notice the how good she smelled, how carefully her hair had been arranged and how she’d worn her nicest dress. She had wanted to look good for him, and the thought made his heart squeeze.

He reached out and held the hands she clasped in her lap. It made her look at him, her teal eyes flashing in the room only lit by his fireplace.

“You’re a very good friend, Azriel.”

“Do you want me to kiss you, Gwyn?”

She nodded, turning her body to face him.

He brushed her cheek with his thumb, then her lips, before he settled on cradling her face. She leant her head into his hand, so trusting as she looked at him. His hand was so big that the fingers that lay on her neck could feel her hammering pulse.

She leant in the same time he did.

At first it was just a peck. Their lips brushing against each other’s so gently it made Azriel ache. He pressed his lips to her again, and again, getting her used to the feeling of his lips on hers. She enthusiastically reciprocated, her slender fingers running up his chest before meeting behind his head, tangling themselves in his hair. He smiled against her mouth, pleased at such a reaction when the real kissing had yet to even start.

His grazed his tongue along her lip, and she eagerly opened her mouth, letting his tongue slip inside her. The noise she made at the contact buzzed straight through him, and he was pleasantly surprised when Gwyn, in all her eagerness, took control of him.

She kissed him as though she had done it her whole life, like her mouth belonged on his, and the feel of her delicate tongue made him deepen their kiss, angling her head so they could better feel one another. She was practically leaning back, and if this had been a meaningless one night stand she’d have been on her back by now with Azriel’s mouth between her thighs.

She broke away from him, his mouth instinctively following hers as it wanted more, making her gleam in pride.

“I want to change positions,” she said, her hands still wired into his hair.

“Anything you want,” he replied breathlessly.

Azriel didn’t know what to expect, but it was not her getting up and crawling into his lap. She straddled his thighs, and there was no way she wouldn’t be able to feel his erection pressing against her. He did with his hands what any male would do in this situation, and her giggle was enough to know that she’d wanted him to do that.

“Your hands are on my ass,” she laughed.

“Is that okay?”

“Very much so.” She took a deep breath. “Take your shirt off. Please.”

He obliged.

“And you should – you should take off my dress too.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have a slip on underneath.”

His hands shook slightly as they ran up her sides and to her back, undoing each button on her dress. To give her a more authentic experience, he decided to lean in as he did, kissing a new spot on her neck with each button that came undone.

She raised her arms so that he could slip the dress over her head, and he averted his eyes when her slip rode up with it. He didn’t look back until she had adjusted herself. When he did, he nearly fainted.

She was divine in her beauty. He always saw lovely she was, anyone with eyes would. Her body was lean and tight. Her uniform may have hidden it, but she had the power of any warrior in her body. Azriel wondered if she purposefully hid her strength so that it was a secret part of her arsenal. Smart female.

He ran his hands up her spread legs before planting them back on her ass. Unable to resist, he squeezed his hands, making her groan.

“Your hands feel so good,” she gasped. “Do everyone’s hands feel like that, or is it just you?”

He snickered. “Anyone who is worth their weight knows how to make a female feel good.” He bumped her shoulder with his nose. “What would you like me to do now? Do you want to keep kissing?”

“Fuck yes I want to keep kissing.” She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest as she playfully nipped at his bottom lip. “But maybe we could do other things. Even better things.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Gwyn reached behind her and grabbed one of the hands resting on her behind. For the first time since they’d started, she looked nervous. Her legs were shaking, and Azriel was unsure if it was anxiety or anticipation for whatever she had planned.

She guided his hand under his slip until he was cupping her sex.

“You aren’t.” He swallowed hard. “You aren’t wearing underwear.”

She shook her head playfully. “I didn’t think I would need to.”

She pressed his hand into her, and he moaned at the wetness he found. She was so slick for him already, and all they had done was kiss. He did an exploratory brush through her folds, and as at the tip of his finger grazed over her clit, she arched into him, holding on tight to his shoulders.

He started teasing her, obsessed with the little noises she was making at the back of her throat as he did, but he soon realised something.

Usually, when Azriel was with a female, they got progressively more… turned on. Their bodies would react to his touch, and his fingers would be coated in their juices before he even attempted to enter them with either his fingers or his cock.

Gwyn was not.

It seemed the more he touched her, the more it was like her body didn’t want this. For all intents and purposes, she was… drying up?

His hand went still, and he could feel her body instinctively relaxing as his hand left her pussy.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, clinging to him.

“You don’t enjoy this.” He made her look him in the eye, and his throat tightened at how she looked. There were tears lining her eyes and a deep furrow on her forehead.

“I do, I promise I do. I’m just nervous. If we – if we just overcome this one thing-”

“No, Gwyn.”

“Please Azriel,” she said desperately, trying to guide his hand back between her thighs.

As gently as he could, he lifted her from his lap and placed her beside him on the bed. Her breath shuddered, and he couldn’t bear the shattered look on her face.

She didn’t say a word, just stood up and tried to locate her dress. Azriel didn’t even know where he had thrown it, but he stood and stopped her from looking anyway.

“Gwyn…” He grasped her hands in his, towering over her as they faced each other. “I want to do this for you, please believe me when I say that. But maybe we just need to take a few more steps first. Do something else before that.”

“What else is there?” She was dejected, her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what I’m doing Az. And I swear on the Cauldron I want this. Fuck, this is so embarrassing. I’m just so nervous, and I get in my head about everything I do-”

“Hey hey hey, stop that.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and the ropable tension in her body started to ease out. She slumped against him, his arms wrapping around her in an embrace. “This is fine. Great, even.”

“You are such a liar.” She sighed, but at least she returned his embrace, tucking herself into him so they were as close as possible.

He tried to think of ways to salvage the night for her, to give her at least a little bit of what she wanted.

An idea sprang to mind.

“Gwyn?”

“Mmm?”

“Get on the bed. Lie down.”

She looked up at him hopefully. She didn’t need to be told twice. She practically flung herself at the bed, laying down on her back and resting her arms above her head. She grinned at him, and he didn’t miss the way she clenched her thighs together than spread them apart like a silent invitation.

Azriel couldn’t help but brighten at her enthusiasm. He undid the buttons on his pants and kicked them down so he was naked before her.

“I thought we weren’t having sex!” She jolted to her side, holding herself up on her arms and staring at his penis, her eyes practically bulging out of her head at the sight of it.

There were many things Azriel did not like about himself. But he had a damn fine cock.

He laughed at the look on her face and shook his head. “We’re not having sex. I’m not even going to touch you.”

She deflated. “Really? Not even a little bit?”

He followed her to the bed, climbing over her without touching her and planting himself next to her so they were lying side to side. He turned his head to her, and she looked at him curiously.

“We’re not just going to lie here naked, are we? It’s a bit cold for that.”

It was a little chilly. Her nipples were hard under her slip, which had ridden up to her stomach.

“No, but we can get under the blanket if you want.”

Her gaze raked up and down his body. “I’m happy above the blanket.”

They laid in a comfortable silence for a moment, happily taking in each other’s bodies. She was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen, and he was glad to see that their kissing antics had left her dishevelled. He liked that look on her.

“Are you actually not going to touch me?”

“I’m not. I think you should touch yourself.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ll touch myself, too. It’ll be a way for us to be more comfortable with each other. For you to be in control of your pleasure.”

“Will you watch me?” she murmured.

“If that’s okay. You can watch me, too.”

She considered his words, and Azriel wondered if this was in fact not the good idea he’d thought he’d had. She pursed her lips, and he knew her answer when she grabbed the hem of her slip and pulled it off, leaving her naked before him.

They stared into each other’s eyes as her hand brushed over her exposed breasts, and Azriel had to hold himself back from taking them in his mouth, from pinching her perked nipples with his teeth. Maybe later, that could come; he thought she would quite like it.

Her right hand kneaded her breast and tweaked her nipple while her left dipped down between her legs. Two fingers ran over her core, and he studied the way she massaged herself so that he could do it to her in the future. At the sight, he tentatively grasped his cock, wanting to make sure that she was truly okay with him touching himself at the vision of her with her fingers dipping inside her, moistening herself before focusing on her clit.

Her eyes flickered to his stroking hand, and her response nearly made him finish then and there like a teenager exploring themselves for the first time. She’d seen him, and lifted her leg so that it was draped over one of his, giving her a better angle on her clit and twining them together.

“I’m used to being quiet,” she shuddered. “So that no one hears me.”

“Be as loud as you want. Scream for me.”

Her hand quickened, and his sack tightened as he matched her speed with his own hand, gripping himself tightly. He moaned so loudly that he was once again thankful that Cassian and Nesta weren’t in the house. Even the magic of the walls mightn’t contain the pleasure pulsing through him as he watched her.

Her legs started to shake, and the little noises she’d made before were no more. Her voice was loud as she no longer held herself back from feeling even ounce of her impending orgasm.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked, her hips starting to gyrate against her hand.

“You. All I can think of is you,” Azriel moaned. He pumped himself quicker, his grip becoming harder.

“What about you,” he whispered in her ear. “Are you thinking about what you saw Cassian do to Nesta?”

Her toes curled at his words. “I’m thinking of what I saw them doing, but it’s you and me.”

“What are we doing, Gwyneth?”

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her tongue licked her lips before she bit down on them. “We’re in the library. You have me bent over one of the desks, and you’re taking me from behind. One of your arms is around me, and you’re flicking my clit as I scream your name. You’re so deep in me, Azriel, I can feel every inch of you as I clench around you. Cauldron, you feel so good. The best thing I’ve ever felt, Az.”

His breath hitched, and he felt himself on the brink of coming. What finally did him in was her teeth biting down on his shoulder as she screamed his name, her orgasm making her whole body shake as it overcame over.

When they had both come down from their highs, they laid trying to catch their breath, both their bodies covered in sweat.

“That was amazing,” she sighed, turning to face him.

He grabbed a corner of the unused blanket beneath them to wipe himself off, then turned to face her, an arm going around her waist and his lips pressing a kiss to her forehead and cheek.

He wanted to look at her body, finally relaxed and languid, but his shadows had another idea. They bathed over her like silk, dancing over her curves and crevices, making her laugh.

“I quite like them,” she said, her eyes starting to drift closed.

“Are you tired?”

“Mhmm.” She snuggled into him further, stealing his warmth. His cock responded to her touch, but it was too soon yet to do anything meaningful.

“Move up for a sec.”

“Is that you trying to hint that I should go?” Her voice was joking, but the look on her face said that she’d go if he wanted her too.

“Absolutely not, you’re staying here with me. I’m just grabbing the blanket.”

She moved away just long enough for him to pull the blankets over them and pull her to his chest again.

She made a content noise and closed her eyes to sleep, and Az thought to himself that he didn’t care if this one day ended their friendship, because it might very well be the best time of his life anyway.

***

The next two weeks were filled with them sneaking away and feverishly touching themselves in all sorts of ways. Once, Gwyn sat in his lap naked while they stroked themselves, kissing each other the entire time. Another time, she pleasured herself by grinding against his thigh and he palmed himself – they hadn’t even bothered to take their clothes off. A late-night training session had led to her using a particularly shaped massage tool on herself in very a scandalous way while he watched, near feral at the sight of her pumping into herself. He did not return that item to the training ring, instead he kept it in his bedside drawer for future use.

It wasn’t until sixteen days and countless orgasms into their agreement that Azriel was finally able to touch her.

It had been a busy night. Rhys, Feyre, Nyx, Mor and Emerie were over for dinner, and it had been the most fun Az had had in a group since last solstice. At the table, he’d had Feyre on one side and Gwyn on the other, and her little secret touches to his thigh made him feel warm all over.

It wasn’t necessarily an arousing touch, just an affectionate one. When the group had started to disperse to drink, Nesta the sober adult taking care of Nyx, Az noticed Gwyn sneak away. He promptly followed her, making sure everyone was distracted as he did so no one noticed what they were doing.

Within a few minutes he was between her thighs tasting her. She had mentioned the night before that she wanted his tongue on her, and by the Cauldron was he happy to oblige. She was sitting on the edge of desk in the library that she’d described to him all those weeks ago, and whilst on his knees before her, he jerked himself off as she crumbled beneath his mouth.

Thankfully, by the time they returned, people were far too tipsy to question where they’d been.

Except for Nesta, who looked suspiciously between the two of them. Whatever she was thinking, it was at Gwyn’s behest if she knew anything. It was her decision, always, what happened between them, and if she wanted people to know about their sneakiness, that was for her to decide.

Seven days later is when she first touched him. Until that point it had all been about her, which is what Azriel wanted. They were on his bed, his fingers deep inside her as they kissed, when her hand brushed against his cock. He moved his hips aside, and she broke their kiss off with a noise of indignation.

“Stop swatting my hands away!” She flicked his nose with her finger.

“Huh?” He was still dazed on the sound of his hand gliding through her dripping wet core.

“Do you not want me to touch you?” Her voice was curt.

“I just want this to be about you. I don’t want you to think that I’m only with you for my own sexual gratification. The only thing that matters to me is your happiness, my soul purpose is you. You’re my priority.” He kissed her neck. “My desires are your desires.” Another kiss. “I can’t focus if you’re anything less than panting and satisfied.”

She pursed her lips, a familiar expression at this point. It turned into a joyful smile, and she smacked a kiss to his lips. “That was actually very sweet. After I get you off, I’m going to sit on your face.”

What was even better than the heavy petting and intense make out sessions was the talking. Sometimes for hours they would just tangle themselves together and divulge their life stories. Azriel knew all about her sister and mother – Gwyn confessing that she felt guilt when her twin wasn’t on the forefront of her mind, but sometimes she pushed her away because the memory of her was overwhelmingly devastating. Az wiped her tears away, desperate to see her smile again. But he also knew of all the good times she’d had growing up, and it made him feel alight inside to know how loved she was. Az told her mostly of Rhys and Cassian and the family they had made for themselves, about how it was so hard to be away from his mother, but he wouldn’t have survived another day in his father’s presence. Gwyn cried for him sometimes, and Azriel had never known such empathy from another.

When they were alone in the House, Nesta and Cassian off on one of their sexcations, Gwyn would spend her evenings and nights with him just as a friend, doing housework and menial tasks that she didn’t have to while humming various tunes. Az would tell her to stop working, but she would just grin and say she liked feeling like part of a home too much to not pretend that she lived there too. So he would just hum with her, his shadows dancing and swaying the way they always inevitably did around her. Then they would fall into bed together (or any surface really) until they were spent and exhausted.

Azriel had never known happiness like this.

***

Azriel was buzzing with excitement. He’d left Gwyn wrapped up in his bed, the sun not yet risen, and made sure to leave her some breakfast on his nightstand and the fire burning to keep her warm without his body next to hers. Usually he would wake her up early with his head between her thighs so she could go back to the library, but she had already told the acolytes she roomed with that she would be staying with Nesta, so no need to sneak around when no one was expecting her.

Before they’d gone to sleep the night before, Gwyn said something to him that left him smiling even now as he made his way to Rhys.

I want to have sex, Az. I’m sure. I know I’m safe with you.

Az didn’t know why Rhys needed him, but if it involved leaving Velaris, he would barter for a few more days so that he might be with Gwyn before he left. An odd feeling entered his chest at the thought. He couldn’t name the feeling; he just knew he didn’t want to leave Gwyn alone.

He landed on the doorstep of Feyre and Rhys’ home. Before he had the chance to let himself in, Feyre opened the door, a grave look on her face.

“Quick. Before they start yelling.” Feyre pinched her nose, the other hand holding Nyx on her hip.

Azriel pushed past her, and it wasn’t hard to find the source of Feyre’s frustration.

“Once again you fucking asshole, you need to back off. How dare you-”

“Nes, calm down-”

“Tell me to calm down again Cassian and I’m out of here. As I was saying, how fucking dare you accuse her of such things, Rhysand, High Lord of Shitting me up the Wall.”

“Nesta, for fuck’s sake you’re getting defensive for no reason!”

“No reason?!” she spat, Cassian holding her back before she lunged at Rhys.

“Too late,” Feyre muttered at him as she walked into the office, sitting at the desk to remain neutral in Nesta and Rhysand’s pissing match. Azriel would love to know what had riled them up so much that they were nearly screaming at each other, but any guidance from his brothers was not there.

“You have to admit that it’s suspicious, Nesta!”

Rhys threw his arm at Azriel as he approached, looking triumphant. “Azriel will agree with me.”

“He will not.”

“May I ask what I might need to agree to, or will it remain a mystery as to why you’re yelling so early in the morning?” Az crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for them to stop acting like children.

“Rhys accused Gwyn of being a spy,” Nesta growled.

“You’re twisting my words! I said I’d had reports of her acting strange, of her behaviour being completely different, and I suggested that it was worth looking into. We have to consider the safety of Velaris, and Gwyn would be the perfect plant.”

Azriel was sure Rhys was going to say more, but he was interrupted by Azriel’s uncontrollable fit of laughter. His laughs shook his whole body, and he felt tears in his eyes from how hard his fit was hitting him. He had to bend over to try and catch his breath, clutching at his chest as though his lungs might leap out of it.

“What’s so funny,” Rhys deadpanned.

Azriel shook his head and walked to Nesta, putting an arm around her shoulder.

“Are you serious, Rhys? Gwyn? Gwyenth Berdara?”

“Yes, I’m serious. Both Clotho and Merrill have approached me. Clotho, because she was worried, and Merrill, because she thought that Gwyn was being insubordinate. Clotho has had multiple girls come to her in fear for Gwyn, saying she’s been disappearing at night and coming back early in the morning. They she’s tired, unfocused, and that she’s exceeding every expectation they had for her in training and acting like a different person in the library. This has all been reported over the last month.” Rhys picked Nyx out of Feyre’s arms to calm himself before continuing. “Gwyn knows incredibly sensitive information about us. She helped us with the Trove, she treats the House of Wind like she bloody lives there. She’s awfully comfortable for a person who previous to knowing us refused to leave the library.”

Any humour Azriel felt had been leeched from his body. Nesta’s verbal beating of Rhys had been justified and then some.

“With all due respect, you can go fuck yourself,” he bit at his brother.

Feyre made a noise in the back of her throat and took Nyx back from Rhys before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

Too much swearing for such little ears! she said into their minds as she was leaving.

“What the fuck, Az?” Rhys looked startled.

“I knew he’d side with me,” Nesta said smugly.

“She’s ‘awfully comfortable?’ Yeah, she is, because she found a fucking family. Nesta is like a sister to her, and she’s over at the House a lot not because she’s entitled, but because we want her there. You might not make that much of an effort with Nesta’s friends because of your own personal shit, but Cassian and I consider her a close friend. Accusing her of anything unbecoming, to me, is as bad as if you’d dragged me in here to tell me Cassian was working against us. You sound ludicrous. Also, need I remind you, it’s not your fucking House anymore. Who we have over is none of your damned business.”

Rhys scoffed. “It’s not your House either.”

“Sorry, High Lord Rhysand, I’ll manage my expectations.” Az clenched his jaw at Rhys’ words. He was right. Azriel didn’t technically have any property, neither had Cassian until Rhys had given Nesta the House as a mating gift. Azriel didn’t technically have a home beyond the sky, nothing worth giving to or sharing with another person. Even now, Gwyn was waiting for him in a bedroom that technically wasn’t is. He wouldn’t dare leave though, not when he knew it was one of only two places that Gwyn felt safe in.

“Why are you getting so defensive? You know what I’m saying is reasonable.”

“It would be if we didn’t know her. She is… there are not words to describe her.”

“Yes, there is,” Nesta piqued. “She is competitive. She is feisty. She’s a Valkyrie. She is the kindest soul in Velaris. She is so brave, and strong, and the most selflessly loving person I’ve met in my entire life. If you weren’t so thick headed, you would see that she’s like Feyre in a lot of ways.” Nesta paused. She left Azriel’s side to stand in front of Rhys, her shoulders back and her head high. “If you accuse her of something it would break her heart. I won’t let you hurt her.”

“I would never hurt her, Nesta.” Rhys rubbed a hand over his face. “If you’re so convinced that nothing is going on, can you explain her strange behaviour.”

Nesta turned away from Rhys, so that he couldn’t see her face. When Nesta looked over at Azriel, she didn’t need to say a single word for him to know that she knew the exact reason Gwyn was acting different.

It was because of him.

“I don’t need to explain it because I trust her. I’m also with her nearly every minute of every day. Do you not think I would not notice if she was conniving against us? Or are you truly that foolish?”

“I agree with Nesta,” Cassian said. “She’s either with us training the Valkyries, or she’s working with Nesta in the library. Who cares if she’s a little distracted, we all are sometimes.”

“And you’re sure of this?” Rhys directed his question at Azriel, almost as if he couldn’t trust Cassian and Nesta to be impartial because of how close they were to Gwyn. Huh. If only he knew.

“I have never been surer of anything.”

***

“Azriel, wait.”

Azriel was stalking through the front gardens. He would walk until his head was clear, then he would go home – go to the House of Wind – and spend the morning with Gwyn. Nesta had other plans.

“What is it?”

“Gwyn-”

“-will be safe. I won’t let Rhys near her.”

“I’m not worried about that. What is going on between you two?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not blind. All the things Rhys described? Sure, might be espionage, but it might also just be someone falling in love.”

“We’re not together.” Love? What a preposterous thought. Gwyn had been very clear from the beginning in what she wanted from him. She needed someone to fulfil her physical needs, and Azriel was happy to do so. All the other stuff, the talking and friendship, was just icing.

“Then what are you doing? Setting yourselves up to get hurt?”

“This is a conversation you should have with her.”

“She trusts you so much, Az. Please, don’t do anything that would hurt her. She’s come so far since we met.”

“Nesta, I promise you I couldn’t dream of hurting her. The thought alone makes me feel visceral pain. What we do, what we are, is just her making decisions and doing what she wants. How did you even know there was something going on?”

Nesta smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I guessed she had a flirtation with someone. I knew it was you from the way she started saying your name.”

Azriel felt his eyes burn, but he did not know why. “The way she says my name?”

“I’ve heard the way she says it a million times. From Cassian and I. From Rhys and Feyre. I can’t describe it beyond that.”

Azriel shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted where he stood. “Have you told Cas?”

“I don’t need to, he knows.”

“So you guys have talked about it?”

“No. I haven’t told him that I know. But I know he knows. And he also knows I know.”

“So he knows you know even though you haven’t told him you know and you know he knows even though he hasn’t said he knows?”

“Exactly,” she laughed. Her smile was more genuine now. It was a look she’d only had since her mating ceremony. It sung contentment, something she, like him, struggled to have.

She came to him and linked their arms, resting her head on his shoulder. Her friendship was invaluable to him, as much as it was a surprise when it first started to form.

“I have one other thing to say, and then I’ll let you go home to Gwyn.”

“Yes, Nesta?”

“The House of Wind is as much as your home as it is mine. You can stay there forever if you want. It is your home, Azriel, and I wouldn’t dream of it being anything else.”

***

Gwyn was awake when Azriel returned home. She was humming a song to herself in bed, wrapped in his blankets like it was a cocoon. She had the breakfast he made for her in her lap, and when he entered the room, she pulled the blanket aside and opened her arms for him to fall into to.

Maybe he still looked stormy after his talk with Rhys, or maybe she just wanted to hold him. Either way, he fell happily into her embrace.

***

Gwyn had set a date. She did not intend to be so clinical about it, she just wanted to give herself a chance to mentally prepare for what was about to happen, and she needed a few days to do so.

The month she’d had with Azriel had been… Cauldron, she did not know how to exactly describe it. When she had approached him, she honestly did not think that he would say yes to such a ridiculous idea. But he had, and he’d given her nothing short of the best month of her life. Her cheeks ached from how much she was smiling, and even if she was tired when she worked, she wouldn’t give up her restless nights for anything.

It would also be remiss for her to not acknowledge that perhaps what she had with him was more than an arranged bargain, but any time the thoughts propped up she promptly put them to the side.

She had not gone to see Az last night, needing the time to do extra work so that she could be missed for a day. Or two. Maybe even three.

Gwyn didn’t know how long this marathon might last, but if it were anything like Nesta and Cassian’s, it could be a while.

She had also warned Clotho and the females she shared her room with that she would be staying at the House of Wind for a few days. When asked why, she just said she was doing something with Emerie without going into any detail.

So, tonight it was. She was ready.

She was so fucking ready.

The moment dinner was served in the library she made a run for it, having to physically restrain herself from skipping out of the library. She was so excited, her body literally vibrating with energy, that she didn’t even see Nesta before their bodies slammed together.

They went to a ground in a tangled fumble, and Nesta was too busy laughing to listen to Gwyn’s repeated apologies. The brisk evening air greeted them, the stars starting to peek through the violet dusk as they laid on the path that took them from the library to the training area to the House.

“Well, you made looking for you much easier,” Nesta said, brushing off her dress as she stood. She offered Gwyn a hand, which she gladly took. Nesta started walking towards the House, their hands not dropping as they swung them between them like children.

“Why were you looking for me?”

“Emerie is here with Mor and Feyre. I wanted you to join us for dinner.”

“I have dinner with you every night.”

“I know, but I wanted you to know that you’re not just welcome but also invited.”

Gwyn smiled at Nesta, love for her friend filling her heart.

They approached the House, Nesta’s face falling as they walked in and saw Rhys standing in the middle of the room, confused looks on the faces of Mor and Emerie as everyone just looked uncomfortable.

Nesta’s hands squeezed Gwyn’s, and for just a second it felt like Nesta was about to pull Gwyn right back to the library.

“I’m not sure what the problem is,” Mor said slowly. “We go out in Velaris all the time, why can’t we tonight?”

“You’re more than welcome to, I would just rather stay here,” Azriel replied.

Gwyn knew the look on his face. It was the same look he’d had a few days ago when he’d returned from Mother knows where after Rhys summoned him. Gwyn assumed Azriel had just had to do one of the many hard tasks expected of a spymaster, but perhaps there was something else if his face was a mirror of that again now.

“What’s going on?” asked Nesta.

They all turned to look at them like they were surprised to see them. Not even Azriel had noticed their entrance, although Gwyn self-admitted that Azriel tended to be surprised by her sudden appearances quite often. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought maybe his shadows didn’t bother warning him when she was near. It’s not like she was a danger to the guy.

“Rhys came and said we should try the new restaurant on the Rainbow! The one near Feyre’s studio? I’ve heard really nice things about it, and the family that opened it are really beautiful.” Mor beamed at them all, trying to disperse the odd tension. “And then maybe we could go dancing.”  

The idea sounded wonderful, and Gwyn wistfully wished she could join them. In reality, just the thought of going into the city set her heard racing. The only time she had ever left the library or the House, other than to go to Emerie’s house which landed them in the Bloodrite, was to officiate Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony. Although the memory was one of her most treasured ones, it was not something she thought she would be able to do again. Not yet.

“I’ve heard great things about that place,” Nesta replied, her stomach audibly grumbling at just hearing about the exquisite food it might receive.

“You are all more than welcome to go.” Azriel swept a hand out between them. “But I don’t want to.”

His gaze flickered to Gwyn, and suddenly the eyes of everyone were on her.

A blanket of understanding washed over the room. Most eyes were understanding, Mor’s held the pity that Gwyn hated, and Rhys looked indifferent, if not satisfied.

Azriel’s resistance became evident. It wasn’t just that it was the night, their night, but he didn’t want her to be left alone whilst everyone else galivanted through the city having the time of their lives when they knew she wouldn’t be able to join them.

“I don’t want to go either. It’s been a long week and I’m tired,” said Nesta.

Gwyn narrowed her eyes at her lying sister but couldn’t hold it in her heart to be angry. In face, she had to stop it from swelling with how loving their words felt. They didn’t want her to be alone. They wanted to stay with her.

“You know,” spoke Emerie softly, “I can’t imagine anywhere making food as well as the House.”

Mor’s eyes shot to Emerie, and Gwyn wondered if she was imagining the slight betrayed look in them.

“Guy’s, c’mon. Rhys and I made a reservation, they’re expecting us! It would be rude not to go,” Mor pleaded.

Azriel opened his mouth to snap back, but Gwyn interrupted. “She’s right. You should go enjoy yourselves.”

“But Gwyn-”

“It’s okay, Nesta. Please, I really think you should all go.” She made a point to look at Azriel. “It sounds like it would be a lot of fun.”

“It’s not fair to arrange activities that we can’t all participate in.” Azriel’s voice had softened as he looked at her, and if she didn’t have better self-control she would stride over and plant a kiss on his pouting lips.

“How could Mor have known that Gwyn would be here? It’s not her fault,” Rhys interjected.

“That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard-”

“Stop, just stop.” Gwyn clutched her hands in front of her and stepped away from Nesta. She needed them to see her as an adult, as someone who was strong and to be taken seriously. “It’s fine. Really, truly. I have a lot to do anyway.” She turned to Feyre and waved her fingers at Nyx. “If you would like, I can take care of him so you can enjoy some grown-up time.”

For a second Feyre looked hopeful, but then she schooled her face into neutrality. Rhys stepped between the two, and Feyre had to put an arm on his shoulder.

As if to stop him stepping any further.

Gywn blinked, feeling like she should blanch away but not sure as to why.

“That won’t be necessary,” Rhys said. She’d heard him use that voice before. It was his political voice. His I-have-an-agenda voice. Now it was her turn to look confused.

“No worries,” Gwyn whispered.

She looked away from the High Lord’s searing gaze and back to her friends. She hoped her face didn’t speak of her sadness.

“Please go. I would feel awful if any of you stayed on my part. If anything, by going and having a great time you’d be doing me a favour, because I wouldn’t feel guilty.”

“You could always just come with us,” Mor said, tucking her hair behind her ears in a way that was comically similar to how the ‘popular’ girls in her smutty books would behave.

Gwyn bit her lip, thinking about it. Of course, logically, she would be safe. They would all be there, Azriel would be there, but she genuinely felt like she might vomit at the thought. A bead of sweat dripped down her back, and she despised how her eyes stung with tears. She breathed the way her and Nesta had learnt from Valkyrie texts and pulled herself back to reality. Sometimes the logic of actions did not dictate how you would feel, or react, to a situation. Gwyn reminded herself once more to be kinder to herself.

“Thank you for the offer, Mor, but I am happy here.” Gwyn smiled brightly at them all, and they seemed to relax – all but Az and her sisters.

She shooed them out of the House, hoping that one day she would be able to join them.

***

It was odd. Gwyn had spent much time over the last few years alone, but it had never affected her. And although the House was quite good company – it had dinner and dessert ready for her with a box of tissues and chocolates even before Cassian had finally flown off with the resistant Nesta – it wasn’t the same as spending time with someone who could talk back to you.

She only just made it through her meal when she crawled into Azriel’s bed, hoping the scent of him would make her feel better.

It didn’t, but the sight of his room did. There were unlit candles lining the room, and flowers adorning every surface. The cheeky male had even installed a mirror on the ceiling above the bed, and she blushed profusely at the implications.

He had tried to make it romantic, and she adored him for it.

She had no idea when he would be back, and she scolded herself for wishing it would be sooner rather than later. She wanted him to be out and about with his family, even if it made her burn with envy that everyone would be able to enjoy him but her.

She rolled over, stuffing her face into his pillow and groaning. She should take off her day clothes and resign herself to pyjamas. Maybe she should sleep in a different bedroom so as to not torture herself with what this night could have been.

Her night with Az. The night with Az.

“That’s it. I am so over this,” she said aloud before springing up. She stomped out of the room and towards Nesta’s, flinging her closet open to inspect her clothes.

It was just a restaurant. It was safe. She would be fine. Besides, how could she overcome her fears if not to face them? She had gone to Emerie’s and survived. She had gone to Nesta’s mating ceremony and survived. She had won the bloody Bloodrite!

As she looked through the dresses, she quickly realised they wouldn’t fit. They would hang loose at her hips and chest, where Nesta was beautifully endowed and she was not.

“Not to worry, I’ll just take a coat then.” Taking the first one she saw, light but soft enough that warmth wouldn’t be an issue, Gwyn shoved her shoes on approached the door that led to the ten thousand steps that would take her to Velaris. She didn’t know where to go from there, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she would be able to find her friends with enough willpower. And since meeting Nesta and Emerie, since being empowered by the strongest females she knew and since empowering herself, she knew she had that willpower in abundance.

“Let’s fucking do this.”

***

She didn’t know at what point the House had left her, its omnipresence not connected to the stairs, but she was doing just fine even if she felt its absence. She counted in her head to keep track of where she was.

One thousand. Feeling good. Coat in arms.

Two thousand. Out of breath but in a good way.

Three thousand. Fucking shit.

Four thousand. Maybe she should turn around.

Five thousand.

Six thousand. How has Nesta done this multiple times?

Seven thousand. She had this! This was easier than Ramiel!

Eight thousand. If she died here no one would find her.

Nine thousand.

Ten. Fucking. Thousand.

Gwyn realised that there was no way she’d be able to eat with them. They would be having dessert if they hadn’t already moved on. She just needed to find them.

As Gwyn took the last step, her toes touched the streets of Velaris for the very first time.

It was so beautiful she thought she might cry. There was colour everywhere, the laughter of adults and children alike, and she could smell delicious food as the many restaurant’s wide-open doors let the scents pour into the streets. The faelights lining the streets reminded her of the stars she often gazed at with Azriel, the thought of him like a caress to her mind.

Azriel loved Velaris, would die for this city if he had to. How could she been afraid of something he loved so much?

She took one step. Then one more. She was sure to anyone that glanced her way she must have looked like a lunatic, her eyes wide in wonder as she moved at a snail’s pace, Nesta’s coat bundled in her arms because after all those steps she didn’t need it.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, equal parts fear and excitement, as she walked through the city. She got a few odd looks, but she could see it was out of curiosity for a newcomer in a city that had been locked down for centuries, and not for violence. She wasn’t leered at or bothered. In fact, the only time someone even talked to her was when a toddler sprinted from his mother’s side, his legs too quick for his body to keep up, and he fell into her.

The mother apologised profusely but Gwyn didn’t care at all. How could she be mad at the pudgy little baby?

It was easy to find her way to a district clearly dedicated to all things food. If possible, she slowed down even more. She peeked inside every restaurant looking for the four sets of wings that would set her friends apart from everyone else.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of searching but was probably closer to forty minutes, she saw them.

Azriel and Rhys were standing outside the restaurant Mor must’ve been talking about. Light and music drifted from its open windows, the streets still full of roaming people. Gwyn knew they wouldn’t be able to see her yet, and she wondered how she should approach them.

Azriel… did not look happy, and the tense set of Rhys’ shoulders and back let her know that his face likely looked the same, even if he was facing away from her.

Before she could think of a strategy, Azriel looked up, his eyes meeting hers.

Gwyn could not describe the feeling that filled her as they drunk in one another. Still standing twenty steps from him, his gaze made her feel like she was wrapped in his arms.

She raised one hand in a wave, and it was like Rhys didn’t exist at all.

Azriel shoved him to the side, Rhys making an indignant sound as he did. He ran to her, and she dropped Nesta’s coat so she could wrap her arms around him as they crashed together. People in the streets backed off at Azriel’s display, and in that moment she couldn’t have cared less about where she was, as long as she was with him.

His wings wrapped around her, creating a shield between them and the outside world.

“Gwyn.”

“Hey Az,” she whispered, her arms around his neck and his face tucked to her shoulder.

“What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” He straightened and brushed the hair from her face. It had stuck to her skin from how much she had sweat while taking the stairs, but she didn’t care how she looked. She knew he certainly never would.

He looked ready to fight an invisible threat, and it made her throb in unspeakable places.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just – I. Um.” She hadn’t rehearsed what she would say to him, but it’s not like she could blurt out Hey! Just wanted to near you at all times and rub my body against yours!

“Did something happen? What do you need me to do?”

She shook her head. “No, no, Az, really, I’m fine. I just regretted not coming out with you all.”

He must have been able to see the honesty on her face and smile, because he relaxed, his wings folding back.

The look on his face was adorable as the realisation dawned on him that she was here for him.

“Did I miss everything? Are you all done?”

He didn’t answer, but he did look behind him. Rhys was standing there with his mouth open, his face laced with something Gwyn couldn’t put a name to. Before she could greet him, Rhys stormed back into the restaurant.

Azriel turned back to her, and he didn’t hesitate when he lifted her chin and kissed her.

She gasped but reciprocated zealously. She pushed her body into his, and his arms went around her as he lifted her off her feet, cradling him to her as he kissed her like she was the wind that let him embrace the skies. He tasted like air, like gold, like this was his final breath and he was he was sharing it with just her.

***

Azriel sat with Gwyn while the rest of their friends danced. She hid it well, but he could tell that she was nervous being in this new environment.

She had been so good, so brave when she went into the restaurant and greeted Azriel’s family. Nesta and Emerie jumped up when they saw her, and Nesta held her tightly while Emerie rushed to get another chair. Nesta was trying to be subtle, but Azriel saw the happy tears she shed as she held Gwyn. Emerie then insisted that Gwyn sit and eat her strawberry and mango cheesecake with her, which earned an inexplicable scowl from Mor. Interesting.

Once Gwyn was satisfied and protesting the consumption of more food, they all walked together to one of the classier bars Nesta used to frequent so they could go dancing. Everyone was light as a feather, except Rhys, but life was hard as a fucking asshole, so Az wasn’t surprised he was feeling surly.

And now here they were. Azriel and Gwyn seated with the others dancing to their hearts content. Mor was spinning around with a giggling Nyx, Feyre and Rhys were swaying but it was obvious they were speaking to each other through their daemati bond, and Emerie and Nesta were terrorising Cassian in a three-way dance.

“How are you feeling?” Azriel asked, his shadows silent to her moods. If it had been anyone else, he would have known she was coming to the restaurant before she’d even left the House. But his shadows didn’t like to spy on her and revelled in him being surprised by her.

“I feel good.” Her gaze was focused on the dance floor, and Azriel glanced over to see what was so entrancing.

Nesta and Cassian were finally dancing alone, Emerie now with Nyx and Mor. The way Cassian and Nesta were grinding on each other was nothing short of pornographic as they moved into the shadows of the dance floor. Nesta’s back was to Cassian, his hands clasped on her hips as his lips were on her neck as she pushed her ass back against him.

Azriel snorted. They’d be fucking in an alley within the next fifteen minutes.

“Do you want to dance like that, Gwyneth?”

She turned to him, a lovely flush spreading from her face to her chest. “No,” she said unconvincingly. She slid her chair closer to his, the bar stool so high she had to hop onto it to sit. It was frightfully cute, and Azriel had to restrain from kissing her again.

He couldn’t help it in the street. The sight of her – rumpled, breathless, her face alight with joy – was too much for him.

She was beginning to be too much for him.

The longer he was with her, the more of her he was allowed to have, the more he feared he could never go back to just a simple friendship. This female would either be his salvation or his ruination, either of which he would happily accept if it meant he could savour every minute he had left with her.

Under the table, she linked their hands, and Azriel thought he might very well die from the touch.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to enjoy our plans.” He rubbed his thumb against her finger.

She smiled his way, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “It’s okay.” She looked down, biting her lip. “I went to your room. I saw what you had done.”

He swallowed hard. “Did you like it?”

She removed her hand from his and placed it on his thigh. “I loved it.”

He shifted in his seat, glad that the tablecloth was long enough so that anyone around, if they looked, would only see their ankles. “You’re playing with fire right now,” he chucked under his breath as she continued to stroke his thigh.

“I especially liked the mirror on the ceiling. May I ask, what purpose does it serve?” Her smile may have been all innocent, but the way her hand was moving was anything but.

She leant against him so they were touching shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

“It was for your pleasure.”

“Is that right?”

He brushed his lips to her ear, grateful that the dim lights of the bar kept them in the shadows and that the dancing bodies kept their scents hidden. And over the live music, no one would hear them. “Mhm. It was so that, no matter what position I put you in, you could watch me.”

She tipped her head back, humming in acknowledgement. Her hand, already in dangerous territory, swept down his increasingly hard length.

He grunted, laying both his hands on the table and fisting the cloth.

“Is this okay?” she asked, breathless.

He nodded, taking a swig of his drink to distract him.

She brushed her hand down again, bolder this time, and he squirmed in his chair.

“I would take it out, but I fear it would be seen over the table. So inside it stays,” she sighed. “It must be hard being so large.” She put her lips to his ear, mimicking what he had done to her. “I do love it though. The size, the taste, I think about it constantly.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he choked out. “But at least I’d die happy.”

Her hand slipped inside his pants, and he couldn’t help but thrust up into her hand. He tilted his head back in pleasure as she worked him, getting the angles just right as she pumped him. He was unbelievably aroused by the public act, barely able to believe that she’d do something so audacious. But Cauldron have mercy, he would do anything if it meant she was touching him. She could ask to ride him right now in the middle of this bar and he would blissfully indulge.

“I’m going to finish soon,” he warned her.

“I can’t wait for you to finish in me.”

Her words were his undoing, and he felt the edge of the table splinter under his grip as he contained his moan of pleasure.

He stared at her as she pulled her hand from him, offering him a serviette to clean himself like she hadn’t just given him a mind-blowing orgasm where anyone could have seen.

“Az?” she asked after a few, content minutes of silence.

“Yes, Gwyneth?”

“Do you think we could go dance?”

***

Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she had been this relentlessly happy. Azriel flew her and Emerie back to the House of Wind, the latter looking forlorn as they finally left the bar in the small hours of the morning.

Rhys and Feyre had left much earlier, Nyx too small to stay up that late, and if Gwyn was being honest she was surprised they lasted as long as they did. Feyre seemed fine, but Rhys was in a shocking mood. Every time she asked Azriel about it, he just muttered about Rhys being a jerk without elaborating. She could tell that whatever it was, it was sensitive, so she didn’t push him.

Her and Nesta put a very intoxicated Emerie to bed, stripping her and putting her into some pyjamas before tucking her in nice and tight with some herbs on her nightstand that would help her head in the morning. Azriel and Cassian had already gone to their respective bedrooms, and Gwyn contemplated how she was going to sneak into Azriel’s room when Nesta stopped her.

“Can we talk for a second?”

“Of course.”

Nesta led her to the library, and they plopped themselves onto one of the plush couches. Gwyn faced her as she sat, tucking her feet under Nesta’s thighs to keep them warm.

Two hot chocolates appeared to them on a table, a dish of marshmallows to the side. They whispered their thanks to the House, claiming the warm drinks. Gwyn pressed hers up against her face, liking the warmth on her skin.

“What do you want to talk about?” Gwyn asked, taking a sip.

“Azriel. You. You and Azriel.” Nesta patted her shin, and Gwyn put her drink down. This wasn’t a hot chocolate kind of conversation.

“I don’t know what you’re talk-”

“Do you love him, Gwyn? Because if you did, or even if you don’t, you don’t have to sneak around Cassian and I and pretend nothing is happening. You can live here, forever if you want. All four of us in the House.”

“Nesta-”

“Imagine if we both had our families and babies here. It’s a big place, we wouldn’t get in each other’s way. And maybe Emerie could come too and she could fall in love too and we’d all be so happy. Okay, I’m rambling and that was weird. What I’m trying to say is – is that you can Azriel are so obviously together and I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out why you’re keeping it a secret from us, not that I care that you have secrets you’re an adult and you don’t have to tell me everything, and I’m so fucking happy for you, Gwyn, and I want you to know that you can be publicly happy, if you want.”  

“Nesta…”

“I just love this. You and him. I’ve never seen Azriel so happy and you just smile all the time. And, oh, it reminds me of Cassian. In the way that I can see ourselves reflected in you two, and I wonder if maybe if I hadn’t been so,” she gestured at her head, “you know, then I could have just been this happy from the start of us, with him, like you two. So I need you to know that if you want that, if you want him, I am so incredibly supportive and I will do anything you want if it means you get your happily ever after. Okay, I’m done.”

“Nesta.”

“And I also would just love to know how this all began. Like the secret little smiles and observations that I’ve had for as long as I’ve known you just changed one day. And I know you guys used to train alone sometimes and I know you were always here with him, and me and Cas but I can’t pinpoint when your friendship turned into this.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I really am done now.”

“Are you sure?” Gwyn pinched her cheek lovingly, and Nesta swatted it away.

“Yes.”

Gwyn took a second to think about her words, and as nice and idyllic as they sounded, Gwyn wasn’t sure they were the truth.

“Nesta, we aren’t together.”

“What?”

“We have a…” Gwyn struggled to find the words. “Deal? Agreement?”

“A sexy agreement?”

Gwyn laughed. “No. Well, yes actually.” She launched into the story of how her and Azriel had started their bargain, detailing how Azriel had agreed to help her overcome her fear, and how much they practised towards her ultimate goal of sex. Gwyn also expressed how their closeness was something she treasured, as spending so much time together naturally led to a deepening in their friendship. Her face stained pink as she told her of some of the things they had done, but how, after over a month together, that hadn’t actually sealed the deal.

Nesta was silent the entire story, letting Gwyn speak her truth. She was contemplative over Gwyn’s words, not saying anything until she was done speaking.

“Before I say anything, I want to let you know how incredibly proud of you I am, and how much I support wanting to explore yourself and your sexuality. No matter what I say, I need you to know that.”

Well, that wasn’t a good start.

“I understand, Nesta.”

“Gwyn, do you love him?”

Gwyn took a deep breath. It was a topic she often pushed from her mind, unable or not wanting to broach the subject. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a yes or no, Gwyn.”

Gwyn shrugged her shoulders. “What if it’s a ‘I’m not sure because I so thoroughly blurred the lines between what was real and what I asked him to do to help me?’ What if it’s a ‘I don’t know if I could say it to him but if he said it to me, I would say it back in an instant?’”

“Do you know how he feels about you? Has he said anything?”

Gwyn shook her head. “I know we’re friends. I know he cares about me. I know he would do anything I asked of him. I know he must love me, in some way, but I don’t know if it’s love-love or platonic love.”

“And he’s never given any sort of indication of his intentions?”

Gwyn pondered how thoughtful he was, how detail oriented he was to her pleasure and how he was the best part of her day. And as she thought about it, about him, who was so caring and lovable and agreeable, and she realised that a lot of what he did for her – the comfort, the talking, the support – he would do for anyone.

“I’ve never asked.” Her breath shuddered, and Nesta put a hand to her cheek.

“Maybe you should.”

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way as I do? What if I’m just an obligation?”

“Oh, my love.” Nesta repositioned them so that Gwyn was lying down, her head in Nesta’s lap, as Nesta lovingly stroked her hair. It reminded Gwyn so much of what Catrin used to do that she couldn’t help the tears that started to shed.

“It’s better to know what you are to him. If it’s any consolation, I think he cares about you a great deal. Maybe even loves you. It’s hard to tell when he’s naturally so cold.”

He wasn’t cold, she wanted to say, he was the warmest person she knew. Instead, she cried, and she let Nesta comfort her like she always did.

***

A few days passed, and although Gwyn never left the House, her sexual relations with Az didn’t progress. Rather, they stopped altogether. He didn’t mind at all, he was just glad for her company. They talked and trained, and Azriel was surprised that somehow he could be even more impressed of her than before.

She also started doing what he called her ‘casual kisses.’

They would be doing something monotonous, like sorting weapons for training the next day, and she could kiss him as she walked by him. Or they would be sitting in bed reading, and she would lean over and brush her lips to his temple.

It became a game, who could casually kiss the other first if the opportunity arose, and it was the best game Az had ever played.

He felt himself looking forward to the nights even if the only touching they did was cuddling until they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Azriel wondered if this is what home felt like.

It was late, and Gwyn decided that she needed to return to the library before people started to question where she was. Az didn’t have the heart to tell her they already were.

“I had the most interesting conversation with Nesta the other day,” she said as they reached the door that would take her away.

“What about?”

Gwyn fiddled with her fingers, trepidation oozing from her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, worry starting to maw at him.

“I’m fine.” She turned to face him, and he took the opportunity to kiss her on her hairline. He loved the height different between them, it made him feel bigger than he was. “Nesta asked me about us. She has suspected for a while.”

He schooled his face into neutrality. As far as Gwyn knew, this was new information to him.

He hadn’t told her a word of what had happened between them and Rhys, and it would stay that way. All it would do was hurt her, and Azriel was serious when he said no harm would ever come her way from him. She did not need to know that Rhys was acting like a tool.

In more ways than one. Azriel didn’t need to read minds to know that Rhys was highly suspicious of them both. And more so, as much as it pained him to admit, how much Rhys disapproved. He wasn’t sure why, and he couldn’t bear to ask, but he had a good idea. Rhys, as much as he loved Az, must know that he would never be good enough for Gwyn. The idea had plagued him for days, and the only thing that drove away the dark thoughts were the casual kisses Gwyn would bestow upon him.

“How do you feel about that?” he asked her, snapping back to their conversation.

She shrugged. “At first I was worried, but now I’m actually kind of relieved.”

“Why were you worried?”

“You know, it’s weird. I had it in my head that if people knew I was on this mission to achieve some ultimate, empowering orgasm that they might judge me. But Nesta never would, and I felt like an idiot as soon as she looked at me and told me she knew we were,” she gestured between them, “touching.”

Az snickered. “Touching is one way to sum it up.”

“She asked me something I couldn’t answer.”

“What was that?”

“She asked me what we are.” She brushed her hands over his chest absentmindedly. “What I am to you.”

He clasped her hands and held them to his heart, trying to make her look at him when she was purposefully focusing on the floor.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth. That I don’t know what I am to you.”

“Gwyn…”

“I need to say something, and I beg you not to interrupt until I’m done.” She sniffled, and he hated the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

She took a deep breath and wiped her tears away, facing him with steel. “I genuinely approached you with nothing but friendship in mind. I had a plan, to sleep with you once and then go back to how we always were before – me, as your overly competitive but absolute best student, and you as, as this God of a man that I could not believe even walked the same existence as me, let alone be someone I considered a friend. You were my ribbon Az. The thing I wanted to be as good as. And then you said yes to me. I didn’t expect you to. I half-thought you would laugh because you thought I was joking. But you didn’t, and you said yes, and I have made the grave mistake of developing feelings I swore to myself I wouldn’t.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she put a hand over his mouth before he could.

“I had every intention of having sex with you until Nesta asked me what I was to you. And then I realised that if all I was to you was a proposition to uphold, I couldn’t do it. I can’t be with you just once. I can’t be just friends if we take that last step. So, Az, I’m asking you, and please don’t feel obligated to say anything you don’t feel, but what am I to you?”

He couldn’t breathe. His chest felt like his ribs were being ripped apart and then shoved back together until his lungs were caged too tightly. He knew what he wanted to say, that of course she was more than that, she was everything, but then he thought of her spirit being crushed by his inadequacies, and how she could do so much better now that she was ready to. She was pure, she was light, and she deserved more than his darkness.

He had been quiet too long.

Watching her was like watching a porcelain doll shatter after being dropped. Her face crumbled, and she pulled her hands away from him as she tried to contain herself.

“You’re my best friend.” He finally said, his own tears stinging at his eyes. “I can’t lose you.” Which he would, if she stayed with him and realised how truly broken he was.

A sob fractured her chest, and Az hated the way her voice sounded when she spoke. “You’re my best friend, too.”

And then they were kissing. It tasted like salt from their tears and was more passionate and heart-wrenching than any of the kisses they’d had before. They were drowning, their only hope at salvation one another as they clung to each other with all the strength they had.

Azriel didn’t want to let her go. He knew once he did that it would be over. His month of bliss, of final contentment, would be over. Part of him wished Nesta had never opened her mouth, or that he’d been able to tell the truth, but all of him wished that he was someone else, or that he was more like his brothers, so that he was good enough for her.

When they finally stopped kissing, it was not so she could leave. They still clung to each other, breathing in each other’s scents, well into the night.

When she whispered goodbye, part of his soul left with her as she walked away.

He lied to her by staying silent. He should have told her the truth, that what he was feeling went deeper than affection, maybe even deeper than love. But this lie protected her, and he would take it to his grave.