Latest Posts by jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet - Page 2

its of utmost importance you have sound on while watching this

If you use character a.i. for fun, I suggest you keep that as your dirty little secret.

Your fun little app is stealing from writers--it comes at a cost that's paid in harm to the rest of us.

You'll find yourself blocked by most online creatives once they see how proud (or not ashamed) you are of your carefree use of a system that ruins fandom by stealing their hard work.

This theft damages the motivation of writers and artists to continue sharing their work with anyone.

You hurt us all by your selfish use of generative a.i.

Keep it to yourself or be blocked once you're found out.

Queer 👏 people 👏 are 👏 not 👏 all 👏 fucking 👏 activists 👏

Stop quizzing us on queer history and asking us questions we aren’t qualified to answer about the world and about politics and about our identities

Stop trying to back us into a corner so you can justify your discrimination on the basis that we don’t know what we’re talking about or can’t “defend” ourselves to you

Stop treating every queer person that stands up and says “I want to be treated like a person” as if they’re an activist

Cut that bullshit out

Marginalised people just want to exist and be happy

I don’t know everything, and that doesn’t make me undeserving of your respect or my human rights you fucker

I don’t even owe you the stuff I do know- I still am entitled to basic fucking respect

TLDR; Queer people shouldn’t have to be historians or scientists for you to not be a fucking dick

Happy anniversary, Stonewall riots! Stay revolutionary!

we are the daughters of parents who should not have had kids

I'm starting a collection

"What if my friends secretly hate me?" What if they pray for you before bed? What if they hear a song come on and it makes them immediately think of you? What if when times are hard for them, they close their eyes and think of the memories they've shared with you? What if they study your face closely to see how you're feeling? What if they listen to your stories? What if they smile when you text them first? What if

Ace folks are queer. Die mad.

There are still apparently folks (some with genuinely good intentions, some just looking to outrage farm) who don't get why asexual/aromantic folk belong in queer spaces.

I'm ace. So if you keep saying "Someone explain it to me!" here's your explanation, right from the source:

The queer community (at least in my part of the world, yours may be different) is for anyone who doesn't fit into 'standard' cis/hetero norms. Ace people are not attracted to the people we're 'supposed' to be. This often leads to very different values and lived experiences from cultural 'norms.'

It's a different experience than many other LGBTQ+ people have, yes. And it's easier to hide in straight spaces. But it's also easier to hide in straight spaces as a bisexual, cis woman than as a trans woman, or a lesbian woman, or any number of other things. Our camouflage options don't define us, just as they don't define you. You do not become a bush when you put on a ghillie suit. Is my experience different from yours? Probably. BOTH of our experiences may be different from a cis gay man's. That doesn't mean his experiences are invalid, unworthy of support, or not in need of protection.

Exclusionist takes stem from the same attitudes conservatives have about women's clothes. I'm not kidding (and I grew up in that space so @ me at your peril). If a conservative person lived in the 1920's, women shouldn't wear pants. Hardline view right there. But in the 70's and 80's jeans and trousers had become so normalized only the MOST conservative groups had any kind of opinion on them, and nowadays skirt-only groups are even rarer.

Exposure and experience made those garments cultural standards instead of something scary and new.

The same thing happens in all spaces, including queer culture.

Ace/aro folks aren't new to the planet, but we've only gotten any significant attention relatively recently. Because people may have to stop and consider out experiences instead of nodding along and going, "Yes, I know what gay generally means," the natural instinct is to push it away.

Challenge that instinct.

We're a community, not a clone factory. We're supposed to be celebrating diversity this month, not playing Mean Girls and defining our moral superiority by who we exclude.

Fuck "You're allowed to take up space". It's "You're SUPPOSED to take up space!" You can not lean yourself into a corner like a folding chair if you are human. Take the space to breathe and dance and laugh and cry and be angry! You are human not a chair!

“but it wasn’t that bad”

did it hurt? did you feel scared? unsafe? were you embarrassed? humiliated? terrified? did you feel confused on why? does it keep you up at night? do you avoid being in a similar situation? did you cry? did you want to cry? who told you it wasn’t that bad?

This.

Can you do something for me, please?

I want you to reblog this if you believe that two people can be very close and physically affectionate with one another, but still have a completely nonsexual, non-romantic relationship. 

Even if the two people in question are capable of being sexually or romantically attracted to one another. 

Because the friendship I share with someone I consider family in a way that transcends blood has been typecast as a romantic relationship ENTIRELY too many times, and I’m beginning to get sick of it. 

Was playing Stardew Valley last night, extremely high, and realized I wanted to install some mods. I'm not new to modding games but I'd never gotten into modding SV so I went to install SMAPI, and holy shit y'all.

The love and care that was put into designing this piece of sortware. You run it and it pops up a command prompt and *it has instructions for how to use a command prompt built in.*

This is the single friendliest piece of software I've ever encountered. There's a meticulous wiki page with screenshots of exactly what everything looks like, where to click, what to type, everything.

It's designed so literally anybody can do it.

And it's designed to not be scary to somebody who doesn't understand computers very well but wants to download mods for this cute little farming game. Deadass had me crying of the amount of compassion and *care* that a whole community put in to make it so accessible, for free.

Humans are good, actually, and you can't change my mind

[edit] Dang this thing blew up! Got an ask for where to find it to start modding so I wanted to stick it here - if you want to start modding, install SMAPI first! If you know how to extract a compressed (zipped) file, you can most likely handle this.

And if the guides are still a little scary, please ask for help! This game and its modding community are for everyone of all levels of tech literacy. My inbox is open.

i am grabbing you by the shoulders. you must stop thinking of other people as "the cool kids" and "popular bloggers." you must destroy the divide between You and Them. we are all just idiots playing with dolls.

yes, to Get Interaction in the OC Interaction Fandom you have to interact with other people. you have to send them asks and reblog their posts with commentary and dm people and put yourself out there. if you want more interaction you have GOT to be the one to take the first step; you cannot rely on other people to do it for you.

"but my mental illness makes it hard for me to put myself out there!" me too!!! i get it!!! that's why i don't post on this blog and i barely speak in my own server!!! but that's the social part of social media; there is performance in every interaction. yes, it gets tiring. but it's always a good idea to take breaks!! you don't HAVE to post jack shit.

i don't have a good way to end this post i'm just. yelling into the void, like everybody else. i love you. please don't feel like you're lesser because of a note count.

Fellas, fellas

Why on earth are you BUYING PHYSICAL BOOKBOUND COPIES OF FANFICTION????

ACTUALLY WHY ARE YOU EVEN BOOKBINDING FANFICTION TO SELL?!?!?!

IF ANY OF YOU DO EITHER OF THESE THINGS, GET OUT!! I AM NEVER SPEAKING TO YOU AGAIN.

In all seriousness though, authors on AO3 have begun to pull their works off of the site to avoid getting sued by people stealing their works to make a pretty bound book for profit. Entire accounts could be shut down as well.

Listen, I’m all for saving favorite works by printing them out and putting them in a binder, or learning how to make a fancy book for a fanfic, but making books with actual fanfiction in it to sell is where I draw the line.

Literally the entire point of AO3 is that you can read it FOR FREE.

It is DISRESPECTFUL for people to make money off of hardbound copies because guess what, the original creators of these fics get nothing. We are literally only writing fanfiction for our own pleasure.

Buying and selling book-bound fanfiction is also ILLEGAL YOU DUMB SHITS. It’s an immediate violation of copyright law. The original fan work will get erased from the internet.

Fanfiction is already a legal grey zone since they are works being written about are protected by copyright. Copyright holders can in fact go after writers as well as the person who sold the fanfiction.

This also goes for people who steal fanart and, claim it as theirs, and put a price on it.

Don’t make it worse.

Bookbinding fanfiction for profit is literally ruining things for everyone. DON’T.

➡️ Content warnings on fiction are a courtesy. 

➡️ Not every medium of fiction and storytelling has or is expected to have content warnings or extensive tagging.

➡️ Print novels do not traditionally warn for content in any way.

➡️ Until AO3 came along, fanfiction did not traditionally warn for content in any significant way.

➡️ An author is only obligated to warn for content to the degree mandated by the format they publish their fiction on.

➡️ Content warnings beyond the minimum are a courtesy, not an obligation.

➡️ ‘Creator chose not to warn’ is a valid tag that authors are allowed to use on AO3. It means there could be anything in there and you have accepted the risk. ‘May contain peanuts!’

➡️ Writers are allowed to use ‘Creator chose not to warn’ for any reason, including to maintain surprise and avoid spoilers.

➡️ ‘Creator chose not to warn’ is not the same thing as ‘no archive warnings apply’.

➡️ It is your responsibility to protect yourself and close a book, or hit the back button if you find something in fiction that you’re reading that upsets you.

➡️ You are responsible for protecting yourself from fiction that causes you discomfort.

Now there is no step she can take in any direction. She weeps suddenly, stops suddenly, laughs. Sorry! I’m empty. I mean, tired. Today. Inside her chest everything is ablaze.

— Anne Carson, "Poor Houdini" (x)

Practice On Me — Finale — Azriel x Reader

Summary: The grand Illyrian ball is here. Reader is more than ready to return to Windhaven and Azriel, but daddy Fin throws a huge spanner in the works. Life as they know it is about to change.

Note — I’ve tried to tag everyone who’s asked but there are some people that it simply won’t let me tag 🥲

Word Count: 10.6k (oop, sorry 😅)

Warnings: There’s a looot to unpack here. Depictions of violence and gore. Some light smut. 18+!

This place is cold and unforgiving.

The air in your lungs is constricted before you’ve even stepped through the giant gates. They call it the Hewn City due to its entirety being hewn from cold, hard rock.

But you get the feeling these walls are more than that. You can feel the horror in the cracks, the loneliness that screams behind its surface.

You don’t know how Mor has survived so long here. You’re already itching to get out.

A warm hand splays across your back, and you turn to face Fin. It’s not the first time he drinks you in so hungrily, but you could be forgiven for thinking so, by the way his eyes heat all over again. He glances quickly at your lips, and in this empty meeting room that he’s stolen you away to, you’re not at all sure that he isn’t bold enough to act on that hunger.

“Focus, High Lord.” You murmur, brushing the lapel of his tailored jacket. “You’ve an audience waiting for you.”

Somewhat of an infantile groan leaves him — one you’re not sure he’d share with many others. He dips down and allows his forehead to drop against your shoulder, slowly breathing in your scent.

“And if I said fuck the audience,” he murmurs, “and decided to stay here to dip under this gown and ravish you? What then?”

“Then I wager your subjects would be mighty displeased that you brought them here for nothing.”

“I could make you moan,” his nose nudges your neck, “loud enough to give them a show.”

“Later.” You promise falsely, and the lie is sour on your tongue. You step back and straighten yourself out. “You have a duty to attend to.”

The way his eyes sweep you tells you that you are the only duty he wishes to attend to. But he relents with a sigh and inclines his head.

“I do.” He admits. “And I will have to play my role out there. I’ll be mostly unavailable for the duration of this ball, so…I want you to go and have fun. Just don’t stray too far. I’ve organised the evening’s entertainment with you in mind, and I want you by my side when you see it.”

For a beat, you can only blink at him. You’re…touched, that he would do that for you. And your mind immediately starts swirling with possibilities of what that entertainment might be. Perhaps a show of professional dancers or a theatrical performance.

You study him, attempting to glean information merely from the expression on that granite-hewn face. “It’s Starfall.” You remind him. “Is that not the evening’s entertainment?”

He merely smiles. “I’ll send for you when it’s time.” He leans down, coasting his lips over one cheek and then the other. “Enjoy yourself.”

Without another word, he turns. Rolls his shoulders and slips into his High Lord roll. But before he can take a step towards the door, you're grabbing his hand.

“Fin—” You blurt, and he stops. You swallow as you stare up at him. “Just…please don’t let Tathaln Baralas ruin the camps.”

His gaze searches your face. You can’t get a read on his expression.

But then the corners of his lips curve up, and he’s squeezing your hand.

“I won’t let Tathaln become a problem.” He says, and then repeats, “enjoy yourself.”

The way he prises his hand from yours has an air of finality that stops you from pushing any further. You want to ask — beg, if you have to — for his reassurance. But he strides to the door, sleek black shoes clipping against the marble floor.

And left alone, you think you may have done all you possibly can do. That the rest is out of your hands.

So you attempt to shake off your relentless anxiety, and you go to find your friends.

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

Weaving through the mammoth structure and the sea of Illyrians that fill it, you’ve already witnessed three fights and two couples damn near fucking in nothing more hidden than the alcoves carved into the walls. Pretty tame for your people, but alas, the night is young.

There are so many pairs of wings. There is such a thick air of arrogance and ego and brutishness. You’re not quite sure where you fit in here, but before you can find a refreshment that will dull that feeling, strong arms are wrapping around your waist and yanking you backwards.

You scream, and no one around you bats an eyelash. You thrash and buck, but the attempt is met with—

Deep, smooth laughter that you know so, so well.

You relax in the offender’s hold immediately, and their arms loosen enough for you to twist in them.

You glare up at Cassian and send a punch to his bicep. “Asshole.”

“Ow!” He chokes on another laugh, and then he’s grinning brilliantly, white teeth gleaming in the fae light. “Hello, Sweetpea. I’ve missed you.”

Fuck, you’ve missed him too. And that’s all it takes for you to throw your arms around him and squeeze.

He smells like Cass. That rugged scent of his that is such a comfort. And the way he hugs you back, firm yet gentle, warm and loving and present, tells you that any previous anger he had towards you is a thing of the past.

“Windhaven is fucking boring without you.” He pulls back, holding you at arms length — and blinks. “Holy gods, look at you.”

“Look at you.” Your eyes rove over him, from his tailored, maroon-coloured suit to his brushed, slicked-back hair. His wings are squeaky clean and flared proudly. He’s stunning. Breathtaking.

He cracks another Cassian grin. “Who knew we could brush up so well, hey, Sweetpea? You’re absolutely gorgeous. I’ll be the envy of all these Illyrian males, knowing I fucked you—”

“Cassian.” You land another hit to his bicep. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ve actually been sent to collect you. A certain someone is waiting for you on a patio. I’ll give you a clue — he, too, has fucked you—”

With a roll of your eyes, albeit a fond one, you’re breezing past him with a feeling of…need. To see Azriel. To have him ground you in a place and circumstance of such unfamiliarity. You need that comfort.

Cass follows promptly, slinging an arm around your shoulder — not just because he’s missed you, but because the leering eyes of hundreds of Illyrian males follow your every step. Those gazes seem to drink in your dress bead by little bead. They’re hungry for sex and for violence.

“Out here.” Your friend steers you down a hallway, untouched by not only guests, but also the horrific brilliance of the rest of this place. This is an area that most aren’t supposed to see, with chipped concrete floors and peeling walls. It’s so cold, so ugly and uninviting, that you can’t imagine why Azriel would summon you here, of all places.

But then a door appears at the end of the winding hall, open just enough for a sliver of moonlight to touch the threshold. The fresh air has goosebumps spreading over your skin.

“He wanted some private time with you. Rhys and I said we’d keep watch.” Cass studies you and huffs a deep, dramatic sigh. “I’m trying really hard not to feel left out right now.”

“I’m sure you don’t really want to be the third wheel—”

“Sure I do. I’ve told Az that he wouldn’t even know I’m there, but no, he wants you all to himself. Selfish bastard.” He reaches out, pulling the door open wider for you. And then he calls, “I hope you heard that, fucker!”

Strong footsteps emerge from argent moonlight, and Azriel’s voice is a lilting shiver across your skin. “You know I heard it, you idiot.” He says. “You…”

His words trail off as he takes you in, and suddenly you don’t know what to do with your hands, your face, with any part of you.

His stare holds the weight of a very ancient love, so much older than the both of you. It somehow translates that you had his heart in a previous life, when you were different people entirely, and you’ll still have it in the next, when your souls begin anew.

He swallows, loud enough that you all hear it. And his voice is husky as he says, “There are no words worthy of you.”

And you’re hit with a strange urge to cry. Mostly because you feel exactly the same way about him.

He is…exquisite. He’s slicked his hair back, and that alone is a huge thing for him — to openly show each and every curve and line of his face, with no strands to hide behind. The curtain of his thick, dark lashes only accentuates the honey of his eyes and the gold of his skin.

And the suit he’s donned for the evening — that same maroon colour that Cass is wearing. You wonder if Rhys, wherever he is, is wearing the same. Whether the trio look as breathtaking together as you expect them to.

“No words.” Az repeats, shaking his head. “The Mother herself must have sent you to me.”

Cassian smirks and rests an elbow atop of your head, regardless of your perfected hair. “I said the same.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I said something similar.”

“It wasn’t even close to that.”

“Be grateful of my winning charm—”

“Cassian.” Az cuts him off. “Why don’t you go and find Rhys?”

Cass lets out an infantile whine. “But he’s having private time with Zakai.”

“And I’d like to have some private time with Y/N, so. Run along.”

Your friend offers a great, dramatic huff that makes you grin, but he removes his arm from your head and turns.

“This whole coupling up thing is boring!” He calls, retreating down the hall.

And then it’s just you and Azriel.

Your love. Your heart.

You turn back to him with a coy smile, reaching up to fix your hair.

“Let me.” Az murmurs, and he steps closer, his fingers sinking into the strands of your hair. Up close, you drink him down even more, greedy and insatiable. You want to know every expression, every thought.

“There are no words worthy of you, either.” You whisper, and his eyes drop down from your hair to meet yours. “You’re a vision, Az.”

He studies you for a moment. And though his hands leave the strands, they lower only to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek.

“What I am,” he murmurs, “is yours.”

Your eyes shutter, and you drop your forehead against his. Every last bit of trouble and turmoil you’ve experienced has been worth it to hear those words. You want them to mark your skin.

You push up onto the tips of your toes, slanting your mouth over Azriel’s. He wastes no time in sliding his hands to your waist and hauling you close to him.

You kiss him like doing so here isn’t risky. Like you have the freedom to kiss him whenever and however you both want, and there are no outer forces getting in the way. You long for the day when that will be the case. When you can love, and love proudly.

Perhaps that luxury isn’t too far out of reach.

Az seems to think so, too, as he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours once more, and he says, breathlessly, “Things are going to change — after tonight. I can feel it.”

You study him, searching for deeper meaning. And as though they can sense your anxiety, his shadows snake around your ankles in a soothing caress. “A good change, I hope.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. Me and you. I’m yours.”

You peck him once, twice. “And I am yours.”

Those words alone are enough to make heat blaze in his eyes. With adoration making way for passion, lust, he allows his gaze to rake over you, and he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

“So fucking gorgeous.” His voice is guttural. “If we didn’t have to attend this ball right now, I would—”

The door flies open behind you, and Az looks more than ready to throttle Cassian as he prances back into sight and announces, “Found Rhys!”

“And we brought booze.” Rhys swiftly follows with a smirk. “Raided personally, by me, from my asshole father’s stash.”

Sure enough, his suit matches the other two. And seeing the three of them together like that, looking so beautiful, so proper, so…matured—

A lump forms in your throat that you force down. You furiously blink away the tears that sting your eyes.

Because it hits you, just then, how much you’ve missed this — the four of you, just being together, like old times. You were always such a strong unit, always driven by your love for one another, and the dysfunctional, unconventional, beautiful family you became. It’s been a long while since you looked upon these three males without burdening thoughts always remaining a step away. You miss the ease. You miss the love.

But here it is, right in front of you, just like it always will be. And in that moment, nothing else matters but your little unit. Just you, Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand.

As you shake out of your thoughts, you realise Rhys is staring at you just as intensely. Strong emotion swims in his eyes.

“…What?” You ask, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“You just…look incredible.” He smiles softly. “Every single star that soars above our heads tonight will have nothing on you.”

Just as you think you’re about to get choked up all over again, Cassian smirks and declares, “I said the same.”

You scowl, reaching out to swat him. “No, you did not. Just accept you’re bad at compliments and move on.”

“I’m a master at compliments, thank you very much.”

Az slides an arm around your waist and quirks an eyebrow. “You took Sacha for a drink and complimented her by saying you look like you bathed. You’re hardly a poet, Cass.”

It’s Cassian’s turn to scowl then. “Well, what I may lack in poetry, I make up for in the bedroom. As Y/N clearly knows.”

A snarl rips from Azriel’s throat. “Watch yourself.”

Rhys rolls his eyes and smacks Cassian upside the head. “Don’t wind him up, dickhead.”

“Who are you calling dickhead?”

“I’m calling you dickhead, dickhead.”

The bickering becomes background noise as you prise the bottle from Rhys’s hand and take a generous swig — none of which he even notices, as he and Cass continue taking swipes at each other.

And as the liquid burns your throat, you meet Azriel’s gaze. Both of you grin. He takes the bottle from you.

In that moment, all you feel is happiness. Beautiful familiarity. Rhys and Cassian tearing chunks out of each other while you and Azriel watch and laugh from the sidelines. It makes your heart feel heavy with such warmth that it may just burst.

You do not need lavishness or luxury. Your life is nothing special, but you do not want for anything.

Just this. Only this.

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

“Who knew so many Illyrians could dance?”

Rhysand’s steps are swift and flawless. It’s situations like these — ones of strict propriety and, dare you say, class — that you’re reminded he’s only half-Illyrian. The other males around you may be trying their hand at dancing, but Rhys flows through each number with barely a thought.

You smile up at him, secure in his hold. A dance floor full of Illyrians is a temperamental and, quite frankly, stupid idea. Anyone who gets too close to another’s wings is asking for a punch. Or five.

But so far, it’s been surprisingly uneventful. And you might even begin to relax and enjoy yourself — if not for the images you keep glimpsing in your periphery.

Every now and then, a flash of bright red will pass you by as Kaeda is spun from one set of burly arms to another. Her dress is the same shade as her hair. It’s alarming. Makes you think of blood.

And even more alarming, perhaps, is the pair of eyes that follow you from the dais. Fin spares only cursory glances to the rest of his guests, from where he sits on his throne in pensive silence, but his eyes linger heavily on you. Hungry, flaming eyes that follow your every move. And standing at his side — Tathaln Baralas.

The Lord of Fenlaros is even bigger than you remember. In a tailored suit, he looks…all wrong. That kind of finery will never work with him. He’s rugged, and cold, and something tells you that while Fenlaros is considerably more civilised than the majority of Illyrian camps, Tathaln Baralas feels most at home with the bare necessities. Luxury is nothing but a fly buzzing in his ear.

But he will tolerate that fly, you know — can tell, precisely from the way his dark, frightening eyes watch the room with more intensity than any single person should harbour. And that intensity is directed solely at one person. Azriel.

Tathaln watches the shadowsinger as though he’s weighing up whether he can kidnap him from this event and force him to Fenlaros. It makes your stomach turn.

“You seem on edge tonight.” Rhys’s deep gaze studies you. His hand presses firmer against the small of your back. “I won’t let anything happen to you, don’t worry.”

You’re not sure if he’s referring to his father, or to Kaeda, or to her father. Or even just to the evening in general. But you squeeze his hand, all the same.

“You’re the best.” You tell him. “And you should be dancing with Zakai.”

His eyes glimmer with his signature charm. “Oh, I will. But I always intended to save the first dance for my best girl.”

The sentiment is so…Rhysand, so comforting, that you almost — almost — start to think that everything will be alright.

But he spins you under his arm, and it’s like being spun straight back into reality. Because as you turn, that gaze from up on the dais meets yours again.

And this time, it’s not just hungry — but possessive.

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

You dance and dance until your feet feel like they might fall off. Although, you’re not sure how much of that can be attributed to Cassian stepping on them throughout his uncoordinated prancing.

But the more the night wears on, the more your stomach churns with deep, unrelenting anxiety. You feel sick. Like a shadow of doom is looming over your shoulder and waiting to pull you into its thrall. By the time Cassian hands you over to Azriel, you’re not entirely sure that you won’t be sick.

Az studies your face with clear concern on his own — concern that doesn’t make his steps falter. He’s a natural dancer, taught and honed by Roza. Almost as good as Rhys. He moves as swift as flying, but his expression doesn’t hold the same ease.

“What is it?” He asks, and his thumb sweeps a stroke over your hip. “You don’t look well.”

So badly, you want to lean into his touch. But…not now — not with Fin watching. You dare a quick glance at the dais, and sure enough, his eyes stalk you. They follow everywhere Azriel touches your body. Strangely, the hunger in them intensifies. The hickory shade of them has darkened until it’s almost a stark black. He licks his lips and watches Azriel’s fingers caress you through your dress.

“I’m just…ready for this night to be over. You know all this luxury isn’t my thing.”

His hands press firmer against your skin. “I must say, as much as I’m loving this dress, I’m equally excited to rip it off—”

“May I?”

Two seconds. You look away for two seconds, and Fin is suddenly off the dais and behind you. The guests around you all watch with curious eyes.

Azriel pauses, his lingering touch letting you know just how reluctant he is to let you go.

But ultimately, he is wise. And ultimately, he concedes.

“Of course, High Lord.” He inclines his head. “She’s your special guest, after all.”

“Yes.” Fin’s eyes don’t stray from you. “She is.”

You know it’s deliberate — the way he makes sure everyone is watching as he scoops you into his arms with a small lift off the ground. And then he begins dancing, and everyone else resumes.

As you follow his steps, you allow yourself the chance to look at him. Look at him, and wonder if he’ll hate you after all this is over. You…you don’t want him to hate you. That complicates things, but gods above, it’s true.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, and you may as well be the only two people in the room as he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear, “When you look at me like that, Y/N, it makes me think I’m not such a bad male as most would think.”

“You’re not.” You respond almost immediately, and you mean it. “I think it’d surprise you to know how highly you’re regarded. Everyone in this room who is looking upon you—”

You yelp as he suddenly dips you, his lips at your ear.

“Everyone in this room,” he says, “is looking at you. And rightfully so. You’re a masterpiece — my masterpiece.”

The compliment — the possessiveness — all seems extreme. But then, you think everything about Fin might be a bit extreme. He doesn’t do anything by halves. The blush that dusts your cheeks seems to please him.

“You like it, don’t you?” His voice is like gravel. “That not a single male in here can take their eyes off you. You are the envy of every female. Stripped of wings, but not of raw, natural beauty.”

He straightens you out before you can reply, and your head spins — with the sudden movement, and with the whiplash of the comment. It both pleases you and reminds you how exposed your back is — the trauma that everyone can see.

“Charming as ever.” You swallow, hope the smile on your face is convincing. “I don’t quite know what to say.”

“Words are not necessary — not tonight.” The song you’re dancing to fades to an end, and he steadies you gently on your feet. His gaze sweeps you again, and he remarks, “The stars will begin their journeys soon.”

In the strange headiness of the evening, you almost forgot that this is, essentially, two events wrapped up in one. Starfall, and Fin’s lavish ball. Perhaps seeing those stars will bring you some semblance of peace — make you feel less lost than you do right now, as they travel somewhere unbeknownst to you, and perhaps unbeknownst to themselves, also.

“Will you be joining us outside to watch them?” You ask.

A strange smile curves his lips. “Indeed I will. It’s a magnificent sight to behold.” He steps back, bowing to press a kiss to the backs of your fingers. And then he straightens up. Retreats.

“However,” he says, “I do believe the entertainment I’ve arranged for you may just outshine those stars this year.”

He saunters away, back to his dais. And as he lowers himself into his throne, he meets your gaze.

That same old thirst in them is unquenchable.

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The males are treating the stardust like it’s the snow that so often coats your respective camps.

The first specks of it showering down on you were surprising, beautiful. But in true Illyrian fashion, what started as a cordial gathering to observe the soaring, luminous beings, has been reduced to little more than a drunken bust up.

You don’t know which camp launched the first clump of glimmering dust at another, but that was all it took for chaos to break out. The fray jostles you away from your friends until you can no longer feel Azriel pressed to your side or hear Cassian’s constant chattering. Try as you might to locate them, it’s impossible to see past giant, burly males with alarming wingspans. It’s a sea of dark hair and tan skin.

You push and push your way through, looking for a small exit through the gathered bodies. Your gown is trampled on, and you’re shoved this way and that, taking a few handfuls of stardust to your face and neck and arms. The feel of it is a cold contrast against your hot skin.

Just as you spot an opening to squeeze through, a male is careening into you and taking you down with him. It stuns you so much that you forget to brace yourself for impact. You’re about to tear your skin open against the sharp ground—

But huge, warm hands from behind catch you beneath your arms and keep you upright. Set you on your feet.

You turn, smacking straight into a broad expanse of chest. And a little higher up — long hair and wicked eyes. A taunting grin. Too-sharp teeth.

Tathaln Baralas seems to command the area around him so much that the fighting moves away from you both. A fact that makes him so incredibly smug.

“You’re welcome.” He sounds as rough and rugged as the mountain rock.

You clear your throat and incline your head in reluctant thanks. You’re not too keen on the idea of lingering for a chat with him.

But before you can so much as turn, his hand is fastening around your wrist. It’s not a tight grip, and yet it’s a warning — that it could become tighter if you tried to move.

“I’d like to go and find my friends—”

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to work out why the High Lord is so taken by you.” He angles his head, and his eyes travel down, a smirk toying with his lips. “Besides a magnificent pair of tits, of course.”

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to rip your arm away. “You do him a disservice by thinking him so shallow—”

“Does Rhysand know you’re fucking his father?”

“You’re mistaken, my lord, and I’ll thank you to let go of me.”

“My daughter’s warning was clearly of no use. Perhaps I’ll be able to drive the message in harder. Whatever you’re planning—”

“There you are.” Out of seemingly nowhere, Rhysand’s voice saves the day. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The most minuscule, tiny beat passes — but Tathaln Baralas is no damn fool. With such blatant reluctance, he lets go of your wrist and takes a step back.

Rhys presses himself against your side, slinging an arm around your shoulders. He stares at Tathaln as he says, “My father wants everybody rounded up. It’s time for the entertainment he has planned.”

It’s a cloaked order, and you can see how much the Lord of Fenlaros wants to grit his teeth against it. But again — no damn fool.

“I’ll help gather everyone up.” He relents, and then he turns and pushes through fighting males as though they’re not there.

Rhys turns to you, concerned eyes taking you in. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” You respond vaguely, linking your arm with his. “When this is all over, I will be.”

Little does he know, it’s not only the ball that you’re referring to.

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Like petulant children, the bustling males don’t want to go back under the mountain for the remainder of the ball. They want to stay outside and frolic in the fallen stardust and maybe fight or fuck in it, too.

But somehow, Fin commands their return. And the silence with which they now all stare up at the dais has you wondering if there’s anybody he can’t get to obey him.

Roza, probably. The thought brings a smile to your face.

Gods, you’d love to be with Roza right now, Spending quiet, quality time together. Blocking out the world in its entirety. You’re glad, so heavily pregnant as she is, that she’s not here tonight — but still, you can’t help wishing she was—

A loud clap sounds through the room, jolting you from your thoughts. You force your eyes into focus once more, and though you’re buried a few rows back, Fin finds your gaze immediately. He smiles.

“I wanted to thank each and every one of you for coming here tonight.” He addresses the room. “I understand that Illyrians have a way of life that you like to keep loyal to, and that integrating with other camps is not normally a done thing. I appreciate you keeping your minds open and straying from your traditions to honour this event.”

The crowd stirs and murmurs, and every person packed within it must be wondering why Tathaln Baralas is the only camp lord up on that dais with the High Lord while the others all congregate on the floor, common as muck. They are not privy to the things that you are. You have a horrible feeling that that is all about to change.

“While there have been a few…hiccups, this evening, I have mostly been impressed by how well you were able to interact.” Fin goes on. “That is exactly what this little experiment was intended for. Because that’s what this ball was — an experiment. I address each and every Illyrian when I say this: change is coming.”

No.

Your stomach bottoms out. Hands turn clammy in an instant.

Surely…surely he hasn’t just ignored everything you’ve said. Surely this hasn’t all been for nothing.

“You may recognise the male behind me.” He’s not looking at you now. His eyes skim the room, but they don’t stray in your direction. “Tathaln Baralas — Lord of the Fenlaros camp.”

At that, a small burst of cheers breaks out from one section of the room. Fenlarions, you can only assume. You’re too panicked to care.

Tathaln takes a step forward, not quite in line with Fin, but almost. He seems to be fighting back a smirk. And as you feel another heavy set of eyes on you, you look to your left — to a few steps down, where Kaeda stands. She eyes you with what must be triumph in her eyes, and she doesn’t bother to hide her smirk.

This…this has all gone very, very wrong. You’ve fucked up — failed. Perhaps even doomed the lives of countless people. Fin may have poured sweet sentiments into your ear and boosted your confidence, but you so clearly weren’t enough. Weren’t enough to appeal yourself to him, and weren’t enough to save Illyria as you know it.

You’re not at all certain that you aren’t going to faint. Whatever is about to be said or done, you don’t want to be here for it. You want to gather up Azriel and Cassian and Rhys and get the fuck out of there, far away from this, from him. You look frantically around for them, but you’ve lost them again. Can’t even glimpse the backs of their heads.

“A short while ago, the Lord of Fenlaros came to me with a suggestion. A proposition.” Fin slides his hands into his pockets; a strangely arrogant gesture that tells you just how at ease he is. “But before I tell you all about that, I would like to speak to you about somebody else. Another one of your own who I have recently had the delight of spending my time with. Getting to know.”

It takes a delayed moment for you to realise he’s staring at you once more.

Staring firmly, unflinchingly at you.

He extends a hand in your direction, and everybody — every single fucking person around you — turns to get a look, also.

“Sweet Y/N,” He cocks his head. Smiles. “Would you join me up here, please?”

You falter on the spot, forgetting entirely how to move. Every pair of eyes…the attention…it’s all too much. Everyone is looking at you. Everyone can see you, your scars.

“Y/N.” Fin repeats. “This is for you, after all.”

Someone shoves you in the back, and snickers titter around you, the sounds swimming from one ear to the other. On shaking legs, you slip between bodies. Bodies with faces attached that won’t stop looking at you, staring at you, wondering why you, of all people, have caught the High Lord’s attention. A lowly Illyrian female without any wings.

Numb from head to toe, you climb up onto the dais. Fin takes your trembling hand. Pulls you to his side.

Only then do you find Azriel, Cassian and Rhys in the crowd. All staring up at you with alarmed, horrified expressions. They can sense something very terrible is about to go down, too.

“For all of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her — this is Y/N.” Fin speaks loudly, clearly, his tone clipped. “She hails from the Windhaven camp. She is Illyrian in her own right. She has a brain wise beyond her twenty years, and a heart of solid gold. She cares for Illyrians — for all of you. Cares for your futures.” A very, very potent pause. His expression changes — darkens. He purses his lips. “But you all do not care for her, do you?”

Silence. Nobody knows where this is going. There’s a slight movement in the crowd, and out of the corner of your eye, you see your friends pushing closer to the front.

“You cannot claim to care about her — about your own females — when you are willing to do this.”

So quickly, Fin’s hands are gripping your arms, and he’s wrenching you around on the spot. Forcing your back to them. Forcing them to swallow down the sight of your ruined back.

But your scars poking through the sheer fabric is not enough for him, it would seem. Those hands of his, gentle at times and dangerous at others, skate over your shoulders. Stop at the top of your back, where you hate so profoundly to be touched.

And he rips the fabric open like he’s cleaving air.

The cold air hits your exposed back, and surprised murmurs ripple through the room. Each and every one of them will have seen clipped wings before — but not this. Not the brutal hacking you were subjected to.

On instinct, you’re fighting against Fin, trying to turn, trying to hide. He holds you steady.

“Her own father did this to her.” He announces. “As so many of you intend to do to your own daughters, no doubt. Look at her. Look at how she suffered, and believe me when I say, again, change is coming.”

“Father.” Rhysand’s voice reaches you from behind, severe, outraged. “Stop this.”

It surprises you that Fin immediately turns you back around. But you are under no illusion that he’s listened to his son’s plea. He simply isn’t finished.

There is not one part of you that isn’t shaking. You stare firmly at your feet, refusing to meet any of the gazes pinned on you. Some may be pitying. Most will be delighted.

“I understand that Y/N may not appreciate what I just did. And rightfully so.” With a theatrical wave of his hand, the rip at the back of your dress is mended. But the damage is already done. “She has a right to those feelings. A thing I believe you Illyrian males do not understand. That your females feel. That they can rightfully be hurt, and they can rightfully want to be avenged. Y/N?”

You know he’s addressing you, asking you to look at him. But you can’t move. You can’t…can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop feeling like you want to throw up.

“Y/N.” He repeats, softer this time. “Look at me please.”

You pause.

And then you do.

You turn, and you look at him with an expression that will never promise forgiveness.

To his credit, he studies your face. It’s like he’s searching for an answer as to whether his little stunt was irredeemable. His eyes swallow your expression, and a moment passes between you. One that doesn’t include everybody else in this room.

You imagine you look hateful. You imagine you are sneering, and clenching your jaw, and allowing him to see that you will not stand for such disrespect from anybody, including him.

And he…he looks upon you like he wants the rest of the room to disappear. Like he wants nothing more than to steal you into his arms and spirit you away, far away from this.

You take a small step back.

“I got you a gift.” He says, too quietly. Extends a hand again.

You feel yourself shaking your head. You cannot speak. But this does not deter him. He retracts his hand and murmurs to somebody — somebody you can’t see around the roaring in your head — “The box, please.”

As blurred movement stirs in front of you, you angle yourself towards the crowd — towards your friends. You search their terrified faces without seeing them, and you know that they are just as powerless as you are. Even Rhysand. That throwing themselves in the mix may just make the situation worse.

And you don’t even know what the situation is. All you know is that your heart is thudding and your ears are screaming. All you know is that you feel…betrayed…by Fin making a spectacle of you like this. That your body and mind are having such violent reactions because your vulnerabilities, insecurities, may just be the evening’s entertainment that you’re supposed to somehow enjoy—

“Y/N.”

Your eyes snap back to the High Lord, and a tear escapes the corner of it. You pretend it doesn’t exist, even if Fin’s gaze tracks it and softens.

“For you.” He holds a box out to you.

For a moment, you weigh up the likelihood that you could just dart off the stage and make a run for it. Find somewhere to hide and cry. But as your hands extend outwards without you telling them to, you know it’s no use. You’re seeing this through, however reluctantly.

Your trembles are violent as you take the box into your hands — and almost drop it. It’s heavier than you’re expecting. Fin smiles.

Every single person in that room watches you slide the lid off the box.

Every single person in that room watches you peer inside — and drop it. Stagger back.

“What the fuck is this?” You choke. “What have you done?!”

There are murmurs, people angling to get a look, as Fin casually strolls over to that box. As he reaches in.

As he lifts your father’s severed head by his hair and holds it up like it’s a fucking show and tell. And grins at it.

Steeled Illyrian warriors who have been bred for violence scatter back, curses and noises rolling off their tongues.

“Allow this to be a lesson to each and every one of you.” Fin speaks loudly, entirely unperturbed by the head dangling from his fingertips. “That while your camps are overseen by your camp lords, I am still your High Lord, and I am always watching, and listening, and waiting to act, if necessary. This male wronged somebody I care for. The only fitting punishment was this.”

Without a care, he drops your father’s head back into the box and kicks it away. You stumble back, back, toppling off the dais. Somebody catches you.

“I am your High Lord.” Fin repeats, seemingly unaware of the panic roiling in his audience. “I do not take kindly to being used or manipulated. I do not take kindly to somebody presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my court. And Illyria is part of my court — no matter how much you try to distance yourselves. You are under my jurisdiction. What happens to you is my call to make.”

For a split second, you can only hear certain words; used, manipulated, presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. You think he’s addressing solely you, but he isn’t.

People are moving around you. Arms wrap around you. It takes a moment for you to register that it’s Azriel. That he’s tucking you between himself and Cassian and Rhys. They’re shielding you.

Fin is now pacing the dais, hands behind his back. “The Lord of Fenlaros spent months concocting –and perfecting — a self-serving scheme that he then presented to me, as though he has the authority to do so.” He stops, turning to Tathaln — a very pale Tathaln. “And while I agree there would be some benefits to what you proposed, your methods have pissed me off. And I don’t like being pissed off.”

Tathaln squares his massive shoulders. Steps forward. “I—”

“What gives you the right to delegate your daughter and sons to rival camps to do your bidding, without bringing your case to me first? I should have been your first port of call. I should have decided how this plan of yours should play out. Yet you schemed behind my back and tried to build power and gain favour in case I disagreed to your plan. So you could then build a cause against me.”

“My Lord, I assure you, that is not—”

“Yes — your Lord.” He reiterates.

And then quick as a flash, he’s drawing a sword.

Quick as a flash, it slices through the air and hacks Tathaln Baralas’s head clean off his neck.

It drops to the dais with a wet-sounding thwack. The rest of his body crumples to the floor.

You can’t breathe, or think, or hear. Can only stare at Tathaln’s open, glazed eyes, peering off into nothing. There are gasps and curses and panic. Hands claw at you. You can’t move.

And then a high-pitched, wailing scream rents the air, like nothing else you’ve ever heard. So loud, it snaps you out of your shock.

You turn, despite the hands that hold you firm and still. Through tear-blurred eyes, you glimpse Kaeda on her knees. Her beautiful face is screwed with despair. She stares at her father’s head, and she wails.

“Change is, indeed, upon us.” Fin says calmly, as though a river of blood is not pooling at his feet. “But it will be dealt by my hands, and my hands only.” He sheathes his blade once more. “This ball is over. You can all leave.”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolls off the dais, tracking blood with each step. He disappears through a door without looking back.

And then chaos is erupting. Kaeda is still screaming. People are scrambling to book it out of there. You turn back to Tathaln’s head. Turn to your father’s, still in that box. You think you might be sick—

“Y/N.” Hands grasp your face tightly. Azriel is staring into your eyes, pleading with you to stare back. “We need to get out of here, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

You open your mouth, and a strangled noise escapes you. “I…I can’t…move.”

“You can. You can. Come.” His arms band around you. And though he holds you strong, you can feel that he’s shaken, too. “We’re leaving before the High Lord comes back. I’m getting you out of here. Hold onto me.”

You have no choice other than to comply. But your grip is as weak as you are. You can’t stop yourself fucking shaking.

You don’t hear the words that Azriel speaks to Cassian and Rhys. All you can hear is Kaeda’s screaming. All you can do is stare over Azriel’s shoulder at your father’s lifeless face. That face didn’t once look upon you with love in twenty years. Now, it certainly never will.

You keep on looking until Azriel spirits you both out of there, and the coppery tang of blood follows you all the way back to Windhaven.

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“Please try to drink some of that.”

Azriel perches before you, his eyes fixed upon the steaming cup between your hands. You can’t remember how long ago he handed it to you, or how long ago you made it back to Roza’s cottage, or how long ago you watched Fin cleave Tathaln’s head from his body.

The fire is roaring, and more than one blanket is draped around you, but you can’t get any warmth to seep into your bones. You shiver from head to toe.

“It’ll warm you up.” Az reaches out, pressing a hand to your cheek. “I added a drop of whiskey to take the edge off.”

“I need more than a drop.” Cassian’s voice comes from behind the sofa, where he’s been pacing pretty much since he entered. “What the fuck was that? Your father is insane, Rhys.”

Rhys hasn’t breathed a word — that you’re aware of, anyway. Just sat in the armchair and stared into space. 

But his eyes shutter now, and he murmurs, “I know.”

“Absolutely insane.” Cass repeats. The pacing continues, up and down and up and down. “I didn’t realise you’d gotten so close to him, Y/N.”

As if you need reminding.

Fin had made it clear that in some fucked up way, everything he did tonight was for you. He’d slaughtered two people for you. You’d wanted to stop Tathaln, but not like that…never like that.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and you hear Azriel utter a quiet warning to Cass. Cass stops his pacing.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says, softer. “I just…didn’t realise there was so much going on while you were in Velaris.”

“I was trying to help.” You whisper. “I didn’t mean for…I didn’t mean—”

“None of what happened tonight was your fault.” Azriel moves to your side. He pulls you close against him, arms soothingly wrapping around you. “Don’t you dare start thinking that. The High Lord does what he wants.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. What if he’s coming for me next? I was scheming, too.”

Az growls quietly. “He can try. He won’t get close.”

“My father doesn’t want you dead.” Rhys rests his head back against the chair. He doesn’t open his eyes, and you’re wondering if he’s replaying the picture of bloodshed as much as you are. “If he did, he would have killed you there and then, alongside Kaeda’s father and…yours.”

Cassian spits on the ground. “And may your father never know a shred of peace.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, allowing yourself to slump fully against Az’s body, be supported by it. You’re not sure you can hold yourself up right now.

And it’s not that you disagree with Cass’s statement…you’re just not sure what to feel right now.

You hated your father. Despised him. But—

But that kill was supposed to be yours.

Fin had taken that from you in some fucked up display of…of affection, you supposed. Maybe even of ownership.

“He may not want me dead,” you whisper, “but I don’t think he’s finished with me. He’s surely not going to let me come back to Windhaven as if nothing happened. And what of Roza and the babe? Are they safe with him?”

Rhys gives a slow, meditative shake of his head. He’s exhausted. You’re all exhausted. The smell of blood clings to you. “I checked in with her. Despite what he did, they’re always safe with him. As for everything else…I don’t know what he intends.”

“Change is coming.” Finally, Cassian sits down. “That’s what he said. Over and over again.”

You don’t want change. Not the kind that Fin is probably thinking. You don’t want extravagance or luxury. You just want…this.

This little cottage. Your friends. Your love. Your simple, quiet life.

It feels like it hangs in the balance more than ever.

Eyes open, you’re staring at everything you may just lose. But the second you squeeze them shut, you see such thick, alarming red. Hear the thwack of Tathaln’s head falling. Hear the carnal scream that rips from Kaeda’s throat.

Your heartbeat picks up, and tears prick in your eyes — but Azriel’s arms tighten around you.

“Easy.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “I’m right here. All three of us are.”

You know he can’t possibly be as calm as he’s making out. But he’s doing it for you — staying strong for you.

“You should try to sleep, my love.” He murmurs into your hair. “We all should.”

You focus on his warmth, his scent, but the tears keep coming. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Try.” He kisses you again. “For me.”

All you can manage is a relenting nod. And that’s all it takes for him to slide down and pull you with him. He holds you so tightly, as though he’s terrified of letting go. He bundles you against him, wraps a blanket around you both. It can’t be comfortable for him, his wings, but he lays there like it is.

A soft snoring from the armchair tells you that Rhys has already succumbed to exhaustion. You bunch your fingers in the front of Az’s shirt and force your eyes to close, even despite the horrors that await you behind them.

But after a while, you’re aware of the sound of Cassian traipsing to the kitchen. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey that sits mostly drained on the side.

And you realise that in Azriel’s arms, you’d started to drift off, too.

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You wake with a gasping start.

It’s pitch black in the room, besides the dying embers of the fire. Their muted orange glow illuminates the space enough for you to glimpse Rhys, still fast asleep in the chair. Cassian is sprawled out and dozing on the floor.

Any one of you could have stowed away upstairs in the privacy of a bedroom, but…you need each other right now. Each other’s comfort.

You don’t know what the time is; the middle of the night, judging by how dark it is. But there’s a lot of noise and foot traffic that’s carried past the house. You assume it must be Illyrians who have attempted to drown the night’s events in alcohol and are now skulking home.

You try to block it all out. Roll over. But as arms tighten around you and pull you flush against a warm body, you glance up to find Azriel awake, already staring at you.

You stare back.

That’s all you do for a while. Just…stare. Drink each other in. He is so beautiful. So brilliant. Your friend, lover and so much more.

“Hi.” He eventually whispers.

You scan his face. Murmur back, “Hi.”

“You should be sleeping.”

“So should you.”

A small shake of his head. Strands of hair fall from where they were earlier slicked back. The grandeur of the ball seems like eons ago, now.

“I can’t.” He says. “I’m worried about you.”

It’s rare…for him to lay vulnerable thoughts and feelings out like that. You study him again. And you want to reassure him, tell him you’re doing okay — but you’re not. Not right now. And don’t you owe him honesty in return?

“I’m scared.” You admit. Keeping your voice hushed doesn’t stop it from cracking.

Azriel leans down, dropping his forehead against yours. His hand rests at the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles.

After a moment, he asks, “What went on in Velaris?”

You don’t know what to say. It was so easy, in the City of Starlight, to pretend to be someone else. Someone that Fin would desire and eventually trust. So easy to follow a plan unflinchingly.

But back in the frozen grips of Windhaven, you do not feel like that person. You do not know her.

“You said you were scheming.” Az presses. “What went on?”

“I told you…I was trying to convince Fin to reject Tathaln’s idea—”

“Convince him how?”

You swallow. Because you hate the truth. Back in the ordinariness of your Illyrian environment, your behaviour seems so, so bad.

“Did he touch you,” Az breathes.

“No.” You immediately shake your head. “I made him want me. I made him want me so badly that he would trust me and listen to me. I never wanted him to kill for me. And I never wanted him. Every single second I spent there, I just wanted to come back to you—”

His lips fold over yours, and he breathes deep and slow. You waste no time in kissing him back. That kiss is truth, and it’s love.

“Only you, Az.” You whisper as you pull away. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

But he’s not done with you. His mouth is on yours again, and he promises into it, “I’ve only ever wanted you, too.”

Not merely wanted, but needed. And you need each other now. It doesn’t matter at all that you’re not alone in the room — that Cass and Rhys are sleeping mere footsteps away.

Your hands are on each other, grasping at each other, and your bodies come together. It’s unhurried and quiet. Azriel’s eyes don’t leave yours once, from the second he slides into you and you both gasp onto each other’s mouths.

Every slow thrust is one of love. Every one of them is a promise.

“Whatever happens,” he pants quietly, pleasure straining his voice, “whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

“Together.” You vow. A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and Azriel leans in to kiss it away.

He holds you as both your climax and his build together. He holds you as you bury into his shoulder to stop you from crying out. He holds you as you clench around his cock and he spills every last drop into you.

And he holds you as you catch your breaths and press your foreheads together, exhaustion beckoning you once more. He’s held you through so much, and he’ll continue to do so to whatever end.

Only when your eyelids are threatening to close does he brush his mouth against yours once more. And he says again, “We’ll face it together.”

There’s a stirring behind you. Cassian rolls over. Croaks out, “Can you quit fucking?”

And then he snores and he’s back to sleep, the fire warming his wings.

You and Az stare at each other and pause. And despite it all — everything that’s happened tonight — you both break into laughter. It vibrates through his chest and into you, the feeling pleasant, reassuring.

He kisses your forehead, a smile still ghosting his lips.

It stays there as he drifts to sleep.

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

“What the fuck is that?”

Your groggy eyes wrench open and squint at the weak daylight that filters through the cottage. Both Rhys and Cass have bolted upright. Az, too, is jerked awake.

A thumping lands on the front door, urgent, panicked. Anxiety floods your gut.

“I’m coming, fucking hell.” Rhysand clambers to his feet. He’s dishevelled and uncoordinated as he clambers to the door and rips it open.

“Rhys,” Zakai pants from the other side. “What the fuck is your father playing at?”

“What—”

It’s then that the sound hits you all. The sound of authoritative voices calling out. Of people shouting — arguing — back.

Rhys follows Zakai out of the door. You, Azriel and Cassian share a glance before the three of you are also following.

And what you find outside is…chaos.

The sight of Illyrians fighting is nothing new, but males are being ripped from their houses. Children and wives watch, tears staining their cheeks. Paper and clothes and belongings litter the ground as if they’ve been stolen and discarded. The sky is shadowed by the temporary night of soaring Illyrians

Your wide eyes swivel to a roof a few cottages down — where a male stands upon its tiles, his voice bellowing out. He’s leather-clad and puffed up by his own importance — one of Devlon’s cronies, you think.

He seems unperturbed by the pushback on the ground — the gathering, angered males, as he addresses anyone and everyone around him.

“If I call your name, you’re coming with me! You pack the bare necessities — we leave for Steelshore in thirty minutes!” He announces. “Rahu Sepheron, Venia Char, Falkon Galos, Telarion Krin—”

“He’s lost his damn mind.” Rhys grits his teeth, shaking his head.

“He’s actually doing it.” Ice shoots through your veins, nothing to do with the brisk spring morning. “The High Lord is actually splitting everyone up.”

“Zakai Athalar—”

“Fuck this.” Rhys grabs Zakai’s hand, turning to you, Az, Cassian. “Everyone get back inside. None of us are doing anything or going anywhere until I’ve spoken to my father.”

You don’t hesitate to turn on your feet and pull Azriel with you. You want nothing more than to hole yourself up inside the cottage and pretend that none of this is happening. That anxiety and panic isn’t turning your stomach—

But the second you step foot inside, you’re halting in the doorway so suddenly that Cassian smacks into you from behind.

Fin sits at the table, cleaning his nails with a dagger.

He drinks in the sight of you greedily. Glances down at yours and Azriel’s joined hands. Smiles.

“Do you want to tell me what the fuck you’re playing at?” Rhys pushes past you, storming over. “What the hell is all this?”

“This?” Fin sits back. “This, Rhysand, is the reality of war.”

His son grits his teeth. Clenches his fists. “What.”

“War is upon us. Days, weeks, months away. People will have to fight and people will have to die. It is my duty as High Lord to take necessary action to ensure we come out victorious. If I have to sever some relationships for that outcome, then so be it.”

Cassian barrels forward, nothing but anger given flesh. “And what is this supposed necessary action? Tearing families apart?”

Even he, with his quick temper and loose tongue, would never normally address the High Lord in such a way. But Cassian cares. He’s passionate about what’s right.

And what Fin is doing is not right.

But Fin vaguely smiles and picks an invisible piece of dirt from his jacket. “If need be, Cassian, yes.” He says. “I’m delegating Illyrians where they will serve me best in this war. That includes your cosy little unit here.”

“If we are truly at war,” Azriel says quietly, dangerously, “now is not the time to play games.”

“Who’s playing games, shadowsinger?” Fin shrugs. “Not me.”

You don’t think it’s accidental, the way the High Lord’s eyes slide to you in that moment. You look away, refuse to hold his gaze. You could swear he chuckles quietly as he stands up and tucks his chair in.

“So here’s how it’s going to be.” He rests his forearms atop of the chair. “Rhysand — you will be commanding a legion in Camp Theriel.” He glances — barely — at Zakai. “I do believe your lover has already received a summons to leave for Camp Steelshore, so he should probably run along, lest he gets left behind.”

“Father—”

“Cassian.” He interrupts. “You will remain here, in Windhaven — as a common foot soldier in this war.”

“A foot soldier?” Cass spits. “That’s beneath my rank and you know it. You’re only doing this because you’re threatened by Az, Rhys and I being together. How powerful we are. Everyone knows that.”

Fin simply tsks. “Watch yourself, foot soldier. You don’t want to slip further down the ranks, now, do you—”

“Fin.” Finally, you find your voice. You step forward, despite Azriel trying to yank you back. You stare pleadingly at the High Lord.

He turns to you. His eyes sweep your face. His expression seems to go somewhat…quiet.

You had begun to respect this male in some roundabout way. You don’t think you’d ever have fully trusted him, but…there was an understanding, for a time. An allegiance of sorts.

You’d seen a side to him that so few did. And though it’s nowhere to be seen now…you have to believe that it’s still under there somewhere. You have to.

“Please don’t do this.” You whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “Please. This is our home. Our family.”

At the first sight of a tear rolling down your face, Fin swallows — hard. He clenches his fists at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and wipe it away.

It seems like so, so long that he stares at you. So long that he seems to be fighting something internally.

So long that a small glimmer of hope ignites in you that perhaps he cares enough to listen.

But then his eyes are shuttering, and he’s looking away. He says, stiffly, “We all have to make sacrifices in war.”

“Fin—”

“Rhysand will go to Camp Theriel. Cassian will stay here.” His eyes open again. He looks from you, to Azriel, back to you. “You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.”

“What?!”

“You’d better say your goodbyes.” He squares his shoulders, not looking at you at all, now. “It’ll be a very, very long time before you all see each other again. If you see each other again.”

You open your mouth — to say what, you don’t know.

But Fin disappears before your eyes, leaving you — your family — alone.

What sounds far, far away is Cassian’s outraged ranting. Rhysand cursing his father. Zakai trying to talk to him, calm him down.

You and Azriel are the only two who don’t say a thing. Just stand there in silence.

Because you know you can curse all you like. You can shout and throw things and damn Fin to a miserable existence. It may bring you some temporary reprieve.

But it will not change a thing.

Fin is your High Lord. His mind is made up. This is just the next round in his game.

Your family is being cleaved apart. You stand in that cottage where you all slept in each other’s company — not realising it might be the last time, ever.

Your head roars and your tears keep on coming. But you can do nothing but stare at Azriel. He stares at you, too.

You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.

It makes you sick to your stomach. Probably makes Azriel sick to his stomach, also.

But your locked, silent, crestfallen gazes communicate one sacred promise to each other.

Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.

Authors note: Oooooof how are we all feeling? Good? Bad? Sad? Mad? Tempted to commit arson?

I just wanted to say thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. What started out as a fun little smut piece turned into a whole story I didn’t even know I had in me, but I’ve enjoyed every bit of it — especially hearing from all of you. Your likes, reblogs, comments and asks have meant the world to me through this. Thank you so much for the wonderful responses 🫶🏻

For anyone who didn’t see my answer to an ask regarding this last part — I understand it might not be the ending everyone wanted or expected, but I felt there was still so much potential in the story that I wanted to leave it open to — perhaps — write a sequel at some point. I have so many ideas, and I’m totally willing to talk about it and answer any questions about it you have any!

Thank you, again, for all the support, darlings. And I truly hope you enjoyed Practice On Me. 💕

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

Please, i'll even feed it (as if I dont already)

reblog the money pigeon for a financially stable future

Where was this when I was failing math?

Y’ever read something and have understanding that has eluded you interminably suddenly stop, curl up, and snuggle neatly into a fold in your brain because a new way way opened to it?

Burglar in the house

Summary: The boys were trying to surprise you by coming home early from a deployment. They end up being surprised themself.

Authors note; I'm really rusty, if anyone can give me tips I'd appreciate it! (Shut the comment section if you have nothing usefull to say though <3)

Soap

-gets so offended

-secretly impressed

-milks it for attention

Soap nearly trips over the coffee table in his attempt to navigate the dark living room. He's trying to be quiet, trying not to wake you. The plan was to slip into bed without you noticing so he could be the first thing you see when you woke up early in the morning. Two days ago you had whined to him on the phone how you had to wake up at the crack of dawn to come pick him up from base. Lucky for you, the mission had ended just a bit early, giving him the opportunity to take a cab and surprise you.

His hand wraps around the handle of the bedroom door, blood pumping like he's on a mission. It's thanks to that adrenaline that he can avoid the gass bottle you swing at him as soon as the door is open. He can't react fast enough to keep from loosing his balance when you barrel into him, the momentum of your attack causing you to slip.

The air is knocked out of him first by the impact with the floor and then by you landing on his chest. He hits his elbow and curses when the funny bone in it starts singing.

"What the hell. Bonnie?" his eyes squint in the dark, hands warm against your waist.

"Johnny? What are you- I thought you were a burglar! What are you doing here?" you try to scramble off of him, conscious of your full weight on him. His grip tightens and you give up all too easily. Your hands tremble from the fright he'd given you.

"So you try to kill me? And I thought I meant something to you..."

"I wasn't trying to kill you, I thought-" you ramble on until you catch the way his lips quirk up with supressed laughter. His eyes glint with humor even in the little light coming in through the window. Slapping at his chest, you finally pull away and reach to switch on the light. And there he was, the man you missed for almost five weeks now, pinned under you and looking all smug after giving you the scare of your life. "It's the middle of the night, what are you doing sneaking around the house you idiot?"

Still straddeling your boyfriend on the ground, you try to stand, planning to return to your warm bed but he pulls you back down to him.

"You wouldn't leave me all alone on the floor now, would you bonnie?" he's giving you wounded eyes, lips pouty and unbelievably kissable. "See, I hit my elbow!" he lifts it next to his face. You squint at it, leaning close to assess the damage. Only he surges forward and steals a kiss from you, eyes twickeling in delight as you glare at him. In the end you can't stay mad at him when he looks at you like that, but you do insist on taking the smooching to bed.

Ghost

-so proud

-loves that you'd be able to defend yourself in case of an actual break-in

-thinks it's really hot

The house is too quiet when he kicks his boots off, low lights on, meaning you were still awake. You always had some kind of background noise running, silence setting you on edge like it did him. He had planned on surprising you by coming home for your two year anniversary. The mission had run a bit dry with the leads going nowhere and he had convinced Price to give him two days off to spend with you. The flowers he had bought for you now lay forgotten on the bench in the entryway, freeing his hands for a knife.

He's creeping through the house trying to find you when you dart out of the kitchen, roaring a battle cry, slashing at him. He sidesteps you, narrowly avoiding the second attack and disarming you on the third. Your bread knife and his combat knife clutter to the floor as he presses your back to his chest, arms caging you in. You struggle against him, spitting curses at what you think is an intruder. His blood is roaring with adrenaline and the relief of having you safe in his arms

"Bloody hell love, it's just me." he grunts in your ear as you kick at him, arms pinned to your side. You still in his grasp, vibrating with energy.

"Simon? But you aren't supposed to come back until-"

"Couldn't let you spend our aniversary alone. Didn't expect this greetig though." if you didn't know him as well as you did, you might take the rasp in his voice as annoyance. Luckily, you recognize it from many times spent entangled with each other. That and you can feel him poke your ass.

Gaz

-s h o c k e d

-thinks it's the funniest thing in the world

-will not let it go, teases you forever (lovingly)

The music is blasting when he comes home. He kind of expected you to come running, excited to see him after two month of absence. Then again he supposes you didn't hear the door fall shut over your own singing. He follows the sound to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe to watch you sing and dance to your favourite music. You are busy whisking batter in a bowl, hips swaying. When he can finally tear his eyes from your ass, he sees your cookbook, the recipe for his favourite cake open.

The soft smile on his lips quickly fades when you decide to twirl with the bowl in your arms, loud singing turning into a startled screech as you spot the man in your kitchen. You hurl the whisk at him quicker than you can recognize him and it plaps harmlessly against his chest. You both stare at each other, deers caught in a headlight, music still blasting. Slowly, he looks down at the stain on his tshirt, meets your eyes again and you both just double over in laughter.

"So I make it the whole deployment without getting hit only to be attacked by my partner..!" Gaz is wheezing with laughter, pulling you into him. You jokingly hit his chest, shaking with your own amusement.

"Stop, you're getting it all over me!" you grin up at him, loosing yourself in the molten brown eyes you know so well.

"Only fair my little assassin." he plants kisses all over your face and you wrap your arms around his neck.

He will tell this story to the team and all of his friends and your friends. He'll bring it up at every family get together too, just to see you blush and squirm.

Price

-sort of reassured that you can defend yourself

-has to comfort you, you feel so guilty

-trains you in self-defense

When Price opens the door to the bedroom, he has no chance to duck away from the book that comes flying at his face. You have the bedside lamp raised over your head, ready to strike the intruder but recognize him in time. The hardcover book you had thrown at him as a distraction had hit his face, a corner digging into his cheek. He's still not quite sure of what happened when you let the lamp fall to the floor and rush at him.

"John! I'm sorry, I thought you were trying to rob me- You're bleeding, I'm so sorry, let's get you fixed-"

You're shaking as you turn his head this and that way, hands gentle against his cheeks. Tears are gathering in your eyes, guilt swallowing you whole. You're trying to drag him to the bathroom where the first aid kit is when he gently cups your face.

"I'm fine love, look at me." all you can see is the drop of blood from the wound you caused. You watch as it seeps into his beard.

"I didn't mean to hit you, but there's been so many break-ins recently and I heard someone creeping through the house and you aren't supposed to be home until-" he cuts you off with a gentle kiss, slightly chapped lips moving against you until you have to part for air. Foreheads pressed together, you marvel at each other.

"You're good. I'm good. Your book might have a few dog ears though." his eyes crinkle when you blink at him all dazed.

My heart!

simon riley who is the one who rescues you when you're taken hostage by an enemy pmc, fighting through hell just to get you back.

simon riley who doesn't hesitate to take his mask off so as to not frighten you further. it doesn't matter that you've never seen his face, or that he's breaking down his barriers, all that matters is that you don't shake when you look at him.

simon riley who carries you out of there, safe in the warmth of his arms that hold you like he'll let you go again.

simon riley whose heart breaks because he recognises the haunted look in your beautiful eyes, and he knows he'd do anything to see them sparkle like they used to.

simon riley who slowly acclimates you to being touched again (it totally is just for you, he swears). soft brushes of his pinky against yours, a guiding hand on your back, picking a piece of fluff out of your hair.

simon riley who doesn't ask questions when you find comfort cuddling into his broad chest, because he knows mentioning it would only make you feel bad. he doesn't want to lose the way you only find peace cuddled up next to him.

simon riley who kisses your forehead but only when you're asleep, because he still has secrets to keep. he doesn't think you feel the same way, he just thinks you see a protector.

simon riley who cares even if he doesn't have the right words to tell you.

simon riley who loves you, and spends every day thankful he didnt lose you.

I cannot understand how some people "don't know how to portray Gaz" in fics, if we literally have this clip

Like, it's enough to understand so much! His sense of humour, his relationships with Kate and Price, his sarcastic chill energy. It's all right in front of you, just open your eyes!!

Sometimes I get too in my head with my writing. Especially about my smut. I reread every last word with the most critical of eyes and think, Ooh is that cringe? Will that be too graphic? Will this word or phrase take people out of the scene?

And then I read a book. A published, hardcover, NYT bestsellers list book and...

Did you get that?

Someone looked at this sentence (likely more than one someone, tbh) and was like, 'Yeah. We'll print that.'

So the moral of the story, my fellow heathen smut writers, is that we're fine.

As a matter of fact, we're actually fucking amazing.

Shattered under your skin l Azriel x reader

Part 2 of ???

Chapter Summary: You gather the pieces.

The sun has not yet risen but the darkness has yielded to a soft grey light. You were still slumped against the tree. Fingers mindlessly trailing over the bark you stare at nothing in particular. In the matter of one night your life had been uprooted. Betrayed, alone and cold you wonder how long until someone found you. Surely the inner circle was looking for you, alarmed either by Elain or Azriel. Everytime your gaze snagged on the mark on your wrist, a misty band climbing up your hand to your ringfinger, your tears come back. Your innitial panic attack had ebbed after a while, leaving you raw and empty.

Staggering to your feet you start walking. You had winnowed into a forrest, one you hadn't visited in years. Still, it was familiar. You had lived here once, before your life in the night court. Before Azriel. Before you had helped your best friend carry a dying blonde to the border. It's the same spot you stand at now. One foot in the night court, one in autumn.

"I didn't think that this would be the place we'd meet again." you'd known him there for hours. Eris had been watching from the distance, kept various creatures from approaching you while you took your time. You played his game.

"It's been a while." your voice betrayed your hours spend crying. Not that he hadn't been there for it. From the corner of your eye, you see him step forward until he was at your side. He didn't look at you but with a flick of his wrist you felt warmth wrap around you.

"What brings you back? That bat of yours bore you?"

"Apparently he's not my bat." At that, he turns his full attention to you. Eyebrows raised he waited for you to continue.

"Well I didn't expect that-"

You laugh dryly:"Yeah me either. Really ruined my night."

"What happened?"

By the time your tale is finished the tears were back and finally you threw yourself into Eris warm embrace. It's been years since you had spoken but somehow your friendship hadn't broken. He still smelled like smoke and cinnamon and safety. He drew you into his chest tightly, stroking your hair and waiting for you to tell him how to fix this.

But there was no fixing this. There will be an aching hole in your chest for the rest of your life. Because after this, how are you supposed to ever trust Azriel again? If he is capable of hurting you while loving you? No, you had been prepared to walk out on him the second you discovered the betrayal. You had held onto relationships before in your life and had only been hurt for it. So you hardened your heart, drawing strength from Eris embrace and set your shoulders.

"Thank you. I have to go back."

"You're going back to him?" Eris is understandably outraged, holding you a small distance away by your shoulders. He's barely been holding onto his temper for hours, planning misery and death for whoever hurt you. But you place your hands on his wrists soothingly.

"My life is in Velaris. I wont just run away." You hold his stare. Eris knows the look in your eyes. A slow smile forms on his lips. You are petty. You wont let Azriel off easy and disappear. No, you'd force him to look you in the eye and face what he did.

"Kick his ass properly or I'll have to." he says as a way of goodbye, kissing your hair and stepping back.

"I'll send you a letter with all the details." Your grin is still a little wrong, too heavy. But Eris eyes twinkle:"I'll hold you to that."

You step back into nightcourt territory and winnow to Verlaris.

Shattered under your skin I Azriel X Reader

Part one of more(?)

Summary: Your mate keeps making mistakes.

Azriel had thought you to come home late this night. You were supposed to meet up with a friend after work - and you two catching up usually took ages. What he didn't know, was that your friend had gotten an emergency call from her neighboor and had to leave barely an hour into the hang out. You had enjoyed the rest of your dinner alone, happy to have brought a book with you. The walk home had been relaxing and cleared the pleasant haze of wine from your head.

Even if it hadn't, you sure would have sobered up by what you found upon returning home. First you had thought that Azriel had invited someone of the inner circle over. Unusual, as he liked to keep his home free of his rather loud family, but not unheard of. Then the scent of baked goods and your mates frustration registered in your nose and you frowned.

Stepping toward your living room, you identified Elains sobbing. She sounded earnestly upset. You and Elain had gotten along well so far, appreciating each other as support, cooking and baking together. You were just about to enter and try to comfort your friend when Azriel spoke and shattered your heart.

"It was a mistake, Elain. We can't do this to y/n. You're her friend for mothers sake!"

"Why did you kiss me then? Why did you tell me you loved me - And don't tell me it was the alcohol! I've seen you drink more than that!"

"I'm sorry ok? I was-" Azriel interrupted himself and sighed aggravated. "You should leave. Forget what happened, because it won't happen again."

"You can't just pretent nothing happend! If- If we talk to y/n-"

"She can never know what happend, you hear me Elain?" by the sound of it, your mate had stood up from a chair so quick it had toppled over. "Swear to me, you won't tell her!"

"Why? We have feeling for each other Azriel. You can't deny it for the rest of your life. It wouldn't be fair to her not to tell her." Elain sounded wounded, but there was a persuasive edge to her voice.

"She is my mate. I can't throw that away." Azriels quiet voice twisted the knife in your heart.

"If she is your mate, she will understand. She will want you, us, to be happy."

You finally muster up the courage to fully step into the living room. Elain stood close to Azriel, a hand on his cheek, thumb soothing away his tears. He was facing you, although his eyes were clenched shut as if he were trying to protect himself from temptation. A hopeless endeavor as Elain pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. He whimpered. He actually whimpered and the conflicted emotion radiating from the bond made you sick. There was infinite guilt, but it was quickly overpowered by a rush of affection and then arousal as Elain placed a more passionate kiss to his lips.

You finally snapped out of your disbelieve. Betrayal slamming into you, you heard Azriel gasp. One of his hands flew to his chest as his eyes tore open in response to your hurt emanating from the bond. His gaze found you immediatly and he stepped back from Elain as if burned.

Turning on your heel, you made your escape. All you had to do was get out of the house and then a few steps to be able to winnow away. But before you can even reach the frontdoor, he darts in front of you, frantically grabbing your shoulders and searching your gaze.

"Wait! Wait, let me explain. Elain was just leaving- We- I-"

"Go back to the woman you love." Azriel blinked at the tone of your voice. Dull and void of the emotions he could feel echoing in his heart. He felt you like splintering glass under his skin. And he did that to you, the one person he was supposed to never hurt. To keep save. He was supposed to kill the people that made you feel like this. And yet he couldn't let you go. He had always been selfish. Trying to reign in his desperation he swallowed harshly.

"I don't love her, I love you! It was a mistake, I promise you y/n. It won't happen again I swear!" As he said it and you wished it to be true, you felt the skin of your wrist split and re-stich. Crying out in surprise and pain you stumble back, staring at the mark of a bargain struck. Finally your tears spilled over. You had been mentally resigned to forever feel your mates affection for another, had been in the precess of walking out of his life. And now? Now he had accidentally sworn himself to stay away from Elain in the futile hope of making you stay.

He seemed to have realized the same, sinking to his knees wide eyed. "No no, no no no no no- I didn't mean-" He's looking back and forth between you and Elain, pleading with both of you. Your friend had started sobbing again, trying to touch your arm and apologizing. You head swam. The tips of your fingers tingled and you were distantly aware of hyperventilating. Finally pulling out of your stupor you push past Azriel, ignoring him begging for you to "stay" and "not leave him alone". The chilly night air barely encompassed you before you winnowed away.

You aren't sure where you landed, black spots dancing in your vision as the blood doesn't flow to your brain properly. You stuble forward, crashing into a tree and feebly sliding down. Dry leaves crunch under your knees as they hit the ground.

I heard someone call barbie disappointingly heterosexual and I've never disagreed with anything more strongly in my life