#He said he was tired Nyx. He said it so so much. He's tired Nyx. At least he wont be tired anymore Nyx.

[bugwolfsstuff]

If When Hypnos wakes up and everything goes back to normal you just know everyone in his family is going to constantly be making sure that he's just normal sleeping not perma-sleeping.

Like he dozes off for a bit and Thanatos just nudges him and softly goes 'are you awake?' or Nemesis fucking digs him in the ribs and demands he 'wake up'

And not because they think he's lazy this time but because they are so afraid of him not waking up again

[velarisdusk]

The Moment Between Heartbeats

Azriel x Reader

summary: You return to Velaris with gratitude in your heart and a wedding on the horizon. You never meant to cross paths with him. You never meant for anything to change. But fate has its own timing. And its own tether. word count: 4,865 content: [ medical emergency (not main characters), blood, infidelity, sexual content ] author's note: thanks anon for this request!! i had a nice time writing this one :) i dont write mates often so this was interesting practice for me <3 ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The River House looked exactly the same.

Maybe that shouldn’t have surprised you. The Night Court didn’t tend to change unless it meant to. But still—after so many years away, after the long roads and longer days of study and practice and scraping your way toward something like mastery—it was jarring. Like walking into a memory that hadn’t aged with you.

Your steps slowed as you passed the flowering hedges, eyes skimming over the sleek curve of stone and glass, the soft gleam of sunlight spilling across the balcony where you’d once stood as a child, legs too short for the railing, craning your neck to see the High Lord who’d knelt to speak to you like your words had mattered.

They had, apparently. Enough that he’d sent coin. Letters. A promise that if you ever needed a place in the world, he’d help you find it.

And he had.

You adjusted the thin leather satchel at your shoulder. You’d dressed plainly—dark slate skirts, a soft cream blouse, hair half-pulled back—but everything was clean, pressed, deliberate. You weren’t here as some wide-eyed child this time. You were a woman grown, a healer, and the ink on your wedding invitation had barely dried.

You were here to say thank you. That was all.

The House let you in without pause, as if it remembered you.

It smelled the same, too—like polished wood and faelight, like cedar and citrus oil and some warmer note underneath, like the scent of magic at rest.

You didn’t have to wait long. Rhysand appeared from one of the upper hallways, jacket slung over one shoulder, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked a little more tired than you remembered, but the grin that broke across his face when he saw you—it was the same one he’d given you all those years ago, when you’d tugged on his sleeve and asked if High Lords ever got headaches.

“Well, well,” he said, arms opening as he stepped toward you. “If it isn’t my favorite prodigy.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, letting him pull you into a light hug.

“I’m sure you say that to all the children you fund.”

He drew back with a mock-wounded expression. “Only the ones who become brilliant healers and forget to write.”

“I never forgot,” you said, more gently now. “Just… wanted to come back with something to show for it.”

Rhysand’s smile softened. “You didn’t owe me anything. I knew you’d do something extraordinary. All I did was give you a nudge.”

You looked away, suddenly aware of the tightness in your throat. You hadn’t expected to feel so much. Gratitude sat warm and steady in your chest, but underneath it—there was something else. A kind of ache, maybe, for the girl you’d been when she met him. For how much had changed since.

“How’s Nyx?” you asked quietly. “Last time I saw him, he was still half the size of his wings.”

Rhys’ grin tilted, a little proud, a little tired. “Started training in Illyria a few years ago. Thinks he’s ready for war—kid can barely make his bed.”

You laughed, heart squeezing. “Sounds about right.”

“I’m hoping the training will wear him out enough to keep him from charming the kitchen staff into midnight cakes,” he added, voice fond.

“I don’t think anyone who’s ever met him could say no to him.”

“No,” Rhys agreed, “he gets that from his mother.”

You smiled at that—felt something settle in your chest.

“I wanted to thank you properly,” you said, reaching into your satchel. “And to invite you. My wedding’s in two weeks, just outside Cesere. I’d be honored if you came.”

He took the invitation from your hand, fingers brushing yours.

“You found someone worthy, then?”

You smiled. “I did.”

Rhys’ eyes searched yours for a moment longer, but he only nodded.

“Then I’ll come. If I can get Feyre to stop adding new wings to the House for a weekend.”

You laughed. “Tell her she’s invited, too. And Amren, Mor—and the boys, if they’re in town.”

“They are,” Rhys said, walking you toward the door. “Cassian’s been banned from three taverns this month. Azriel’s been pretending that’s not his problem.”

The name landed like a flicker of shadow across your awareness—nothing more. You’d never met him. Only heard stories. Rhys’ Spymaster. A ghost in most reports.

The front door opened before you could respond, catching the breeze.

Rhys gave you one more warm look. “I always knew you’d make something of yourself.”

You ducked your head, smiling. “Thank you.”

And then—

You turned to step outside and walked straight into someone solid.

Your hand shot out instinctively, catching yourself against a chest that felt like it had been carved from mountain rock. Warm. Steady. Not moving.

“Sorry—” you said, already taking a step back. “I didn’t—”

The male in front of you didn’t respond.

He just stared.

Tall. Shadows coiled around him like living things, brushing at his boots, curling at his wrists. He was broader than you expected, beautiful in a way that didn’t seem real—like moonlight caught in obsidian, eyes fixed on you as if you were some kind of puzzle he hadn’t meant to see.

Something flickered in your gut—strange, sharp. Gone as quickly as it came.

You cleared your throat. “Excuse me.”

You stepped aside.

He didn’t.

But he did eventually turn his head slightly, just enough to look past you. Past your shoulder. To Rhysand.

“This is the healer I told you about,” he said, voice easy. “The one from Cesere.”

Azriel didn’t nod. Didn’t speak.

He looked back at you.

And you, not knowing what it meant for him, gave him a polite smile and walked away.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The scent hit him first.

Not strong. Not floral. Something quiet—cool skin and parchment and the faint bite of rosemary, like an old tonic he couldn’t quite name. It caught in his lungs mid-step.

Azriel paused halfway up the stairs. He was halfway through brushing it off—just another passing guest, nothing to—

And then she collided with him.

It wasn’t a dramatic crash. Just a soft, startled sound, the rustle of fabric against leather, the brief, unintended press of her hand to his chest.

But in the space between one heartbeat and the next, something snapped.

Not a crack. Not a fracture.

A snap. Clean. Absolute.

Like a door locking into place behind him.

Azriel didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

It sliced through him like cold steel, sliding beneath the skin and anchoring itself deep, deep in his ribs. It didn’t roar. It settled—quiet and immediate, like a secret remembered too late.

Her.

It was her.

The realization landed with surgical precision. No fanfare. Just certainty—absolute and all-consuming.

She looked up at him, eyes warm but distracted, her apology gentle and brief.

“Sorry,” she said, stepping back. “I didn’t—”

She trailed off, watching his face for a beat too long. He could feel the way her gaze skimmed over him—curious, unknowing. A stranger’s curiosity.

Azriel said nothing.

He couldn’t.

His body had gone still in a way that had nothing to do with training and everything to do with survival. As if any movement might break the air open between them, expose him.

She stepped aside. Cool and polite. Not a flicker of recognition in her voice. Not a hint that anything inside her had shifted.

It hadn’t snapped for her. Of course it hadn’t. 

“Excuse me,” she murmured, already turning away.

The shadows at his back swelled—not violently, but insistently, curling up the stair rail, whispering in a tongue only he knew. They surged toward her retreating form like they wanted to follow.

He swallowed hard and forced them still.

She walked down the steps, and every step she took away from him felt like another inch of his soul being peeled back.

Azriel didn’t move.

She didn’t look back.

Only when the front door eased shut behind her did Rhysand’s voice float up from the hall.

“You alright?”

Azriel blinked.

Only once. Slow. Mechanical.

Rhys stepped into view, already watching him. Not alarmed. Not yet.

“That was her,” Azriel said, his voice low. It came out hoarse, unused. “The healer.”

Rhys’ brows lifted slightly. “Mm. She just came to say thank you. Invited us to her wedding.”

Azriel said nothing.

“She’s done well for herself,” Rhys went on, stepping up beside him. “Bright as ever, even more driven now. Trained under some of the best outside the Courts. She runs a clinic in Cesere.”

Another pause.

Azriel kept staring at the door.

The scent hadn’t left. It clung to his skin. Pressed under his breastbone.

Rhys glanced at the invitation. “She’s marrying someone from her school, it seems.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened—just barely.

“I see,” he said.

And then he turned, took the stairs in silence, and vanished down the hall like smoke.

It took him hours to come back down.

He didn’t know why he bothered.

The house was quiet again by the time he found Rhys in the study, sleeves still rolled, a half-empty glass of wine balanced in one hand. Azriel didn’t knock—just stepped inside and leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, shadows wound tight at his ankles.

Rhys glanced up, unsurprised. “Thought you might circle back.”

Azriel didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he asked, voice low, “What’s her name?”

Rhys set the glass down with a faint clink. “You mean your shadows didn’t read the invitation she handed me?”

He said nothing.

“Mm.” Rhys paused, then said, “(y/n).” Softly. Like a secret.

“She was twelve when I met her. I was visiting Cesere with Feyre—some small delegation thing. She slipped into one of the healing halls during a tour. Asked the attending why no one ever treated grief like poison in the magic. Said it didn’t make sense to heal the body if the magic still hurt.” 

Azriel’s gaze flicked up.

“She had a raw instinct,” Rhys continued, leaning back in his chair. “Not just for medicine. For the way things work. People. Systems. I paid for her education because I wanted to see what she’d build if someone just let her try.”

Azriel said nothing.

Rhys’ tone shifted—cooler now, careful. “She’s good, Az. Not just in skill. People love her. She’s the kind of healer who remembers every patient’s name, who sends letters to families months after an injury’s healed. She’s careful, and kind, and sharp enough to make even Madja flinch—she did, once.”

Azriel didn’t move.

“She met her fiancé at the university. They trained under the same master in Montesere for a few years. He works with magical plant derivatives—” Rhys broke off, narrowing his eyes slightly. “But I’m guessing you already know all that.”

Azriel’s jaw worked once, subtly.

“I read her file,” he said, not bothering to lie. 

“So what is it you’re actually asking me?” Rhys asked. Quiet, but not unkind.

Azriel’s shadows shifted—tighter now, curling slow around his fingers. His voice, when it came, was stripped down.

“I want to know who she is.”

Rhys tilted his head. “You think I didn’t just tell you?”

Azriel’s eyes met his. That flat, endless stillness he wore like armor—but Rhys knew him too well to mistake it for calm.

“You told me what she’s done. What she does. Not who.”

Rhys sat with that for a beat.

Then he said, “She carries too much on her own. Doesn’t like being helped unless she’s bleeding out, and even then she’ll try to talk her way out of it. She walks like she’s being chased, even when she’s not. Laughs when she’s anxious. Goes quiet when she’s hurting. She’s better at caring than being cared for.”

That landed. Azriel didn’t flinch, but something in him stilled further.

Rhys watched him. “You could just ask her yourself.”

A long silence.

Then Azriel said, evenly, “She didn’t feel it.”

Rhys sat back. “Ah.”

“It’s one-sided.”

“For now,” Rhys said carefully.

Azriel shook his head—once, sharp. “She’s getting married.”

Rhys didn’t argue.

Azriel’s voice dropped again, barely above a whisper. “I know she doesn’t know me but… She looked at me like I was no one.”

And Rhys—soft, but steady—answered, “You’ve been no one before. Didn’t stop you from becoming someone.”

That silence stretched again.

Then Azriel said, almost absently, “You guys should go to the wedding.”

“You’re not coming?”

Azriel didn’t answer.

He was already gone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The clinic had been quiet all morning—just the way you liked it.

Soft chatter from the waiting room, the steady rhythm of footsteps across polished floors, the faint hum of spelled light filtering through the tall windows. Outside, the Velaris breeze stirred faintly against the curtains. Somewhere, someone was playing a lute badly. It made you smile.

You’d set up your temporary workspace near the back—out of the way, tucked into a sun-drenched alcove with jars of salves and tinctures stacked in tidy rows beside you. There was comfort in the routine of it, in knowing what each bottle did, where every tool belonged. And for the first time in days, the weight behind your ribs felt… light. Not gone, exactly. But manageable.

You’d written your vows that morning. Scratched them out in the dim hours before dawn, half-smiling at how strange it felt to put a life into words. They were good words. True. Still, a quiet part of you had hesitated over the last line. Not for lack of love, but for something else. Something you couldn’t name.

You were just finishing up a binding charm on a sprained wrist when the front doors crashed open.

The magic in the room shifted—taut, unsettled.

“Coming through,” someone called, and two males rushed in with a third slung between them. Blood slicked the side of his neck, pulsing magic leaking raw and uncontrolled from a gash just below his jaw.

You were moving before anyone asked.

“Back room,” you said sharply, already pulling your sleeves up.

Your team fell in around you, practiced and calm, and you were halfway through stabilizing the spell fracture when another presence stepped into the doorway.

You didn’t look up at first.

But the air had gone still in a particular way—not dangerous, not loud. Just… watchful.

Then you felt them. The shadows.

They lingered at the edge of the room like smoke waiting for a breeze.

You glanced up.

He was standing just outside the threshold, a step out of reach. His arms were crossed over his chest, wings tucked tight behind him. He wore those dark leathers that looked both worn and battle-ready, the kind that moved like a second skin. Seven stones glinted across his body—each embedded in a different place in the leather, deep and gleaming like captured starlight. Shadows curled lazily at his boots, brushing the floor like they had nowhere else to be. Azriel.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Whatever had happened to your patient, he’d been involved. Not in the causing of it—you could tell that much by the tension in his stance. But the aftermath. The cleanup. The threat, neutralized.

You turned back to your patient, sealed the worst of the tear, then gave the nod to move him to recovery.

Only when the doors swung shut behind the others did you turn toward the figure still watching you from the doorway.

“You’re Azriel, aren’t you?” you asked, voice light but genuine.

His expression didn’t shift. “I am.”

You stepped toward him, extending a hand. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself the other day.”

He looked at your hand for a fraction too long before taking it.

His palm was rough—calloused and worn from blade and sparring, and yet warm. Steady. Your fingers slid into his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then—

Something.

Not pain. Not heat. Just a flicker. Like the air had gone thin. Like the room had tilted ever so slightly on its axis.

Your eyes lifted to his.

He was watching you with a stillness that made your breath catch.

The sensation passed as quickly as it came. You blinked once and let go, unsure why you’d held on for even that long.

Azriel stepped back. “I won’t take up your time.”

And then he was gone. Just like that.

You stood there a moment longer, fingers tingling faintly, heart oddly out of rhythm.

You shook it off.

There were patients to check on.

Still, as you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back at the empty doorway.

Like some part of you had missed something.

Or maybe recognized it—too quietly to name.

That night, Velaris shimmered in the dark like it had something to hide. 

You wandered without a plan, the hem of your dress brushing against your ankles as you took another left, then a right, letting the streets pull you wherever they pleased. The sky had slipped fully into indigo, faelights casting their gentle glow across balconies and shuttered shops, the river whispering its song somewhere below.

You should have gone home hours ago. You’d promised your maid of honor a final fitting. Promised yourself an early night.

But your skin itched like it didn’t fit.

You hadn’t been able to shake the feeling since the clinic—the way Azriel’s hand had lingered in yours, the way his voice had slid under your skin like a needle finding the vein. He hadn’t done anything. Had barely said anything.

And still, your dreams since that day at the River House had been full of him.

Nothing graphic. Just… presence. The weight of someone watching over you. The brush of shadow on your shoulder. That same quiet pressure blooming behind your ribs—like you were being filled with something you hadn’t known you were missing.

You were halfway across a narrow footbridge when you sensed it again.

The air changed. Stilled.

You stopped walking.

Then—behind you—a sound. Barely.

Boots touching stone.

You turned just as he dropped down from the rooftop. 

Your breath caught—your whole body flinched, instinct flaring before reason. No wings flared. No shadows curled in warning. Just the quiet landing of a male who’d been waiting. 

Azriel. 

He straightened slowly, eyes already on yours. No armor. No weapons. Just him, dark and patient, the streetlamp glow catching the edge of his profile like it didn’t dare touch him fully.

You stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, rough. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallowed. “I’m used to unexpected visits.”

A faint curve at the corner of his mouth. Then gone.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said quietly. “I told myself I wouldn’t.”

You didn’t move. “But you’re here.”

“I needed to see you. One more time.” A beat. “Before you go.”

Your fingers curled against your palm. “I’m not leaving until next week.”

“I know,” he said. “But I wouldn’t have been able to stay away that long.”

There was something hollow in his voice. Like it cost him to admit it.

You waited.

Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver. And when he finally spoke again, the words landed soft—but they hit like a blade.

“I felt it the moment you touched me.”

Your breath stilled. 

“The bond. I didn’t ask for it. I wasn’t looking for it. But it’s there. And I wouldn’t force it—gods, I’d never—but I couldn’t lie about it either.”

The silence between you opened wide.

He stood in it like it hurt. Like he’d rather be struck than watched. 

Your heart thundered—faint, wild. “I didn’t feel it.”

“I know.”

“And you still came.”

His throat bobbed. “I couldn’t not.”

Your eyes burned suddenly. Too full, too sharp.

“I thought…” You shook your head, laughing once, barely. “I thought I was just nervous about the wedding. About the timing. About saying the right words. But I’ve been dreaming of you. Every night.

Azriel went utterly still.

You stepped closer.

“I didn’t know why I couldn’t sleep. Why every time I closed my eyes, I felt like something was missing. Like I was standing just behind a curtain I couldn’t pull back.” Another step. “It’s been you.”

His mouth parted, breath catching—soft, sharp.

And then you were in his arms.

Or maybe he was in yours.

It didn’t matter who moved first.

The kiss wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t frantic or frenzied. It was simply inevitable—like the space between you had finally grown tired of pretending it wasn’t there. 

His hands found your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your gown like he needed proof. Yours slid into his hair, slow and reverent, as your lips pressed fully to his for the first time.

It felt like answering a question you hadn’t known was being asked.

Like everything else—your vows, your carefully laid plans, the quiet ache behind your ribs—had been written before this moment.

Just waiting.

Just… waiting.

The kiss ended only because breath demanded it.

Your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing like you’d run miles—except you hadn’t moved, hadn’t done anything but say the one true thing your body had been screaming for days.

Azriel’s eyes stayed shut a moment longer. Then:

“Come with me.”

You hesitated—but only for a second. Only long enough to remember that this was your city, too. That just four blocks from here, in a tucked-away garden flat above a glassblowing studio, your rented room waited. Not glamorous. Not permanent. But yours.

You slid your fingers down from his jaw and whispered, “It’s just around the corner.”

He didn’t ask. Didn’t need to.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The apartment was dark when you stepped inside, but a flick of your fingers coaxed the faelights to life—low, golden. Gentle. The kind of light that knew how to stay quiet. The windows were still cracked from earlier, letting the breeze in. You’d left a kettle out, a half-folded list of supplies on the table. A vase of overripe lilacs sagged near the sink.

Azriel stepped in behind you and closed the door with the softest click.

Neither of you moved.

The quiet held.

And then, slowly, carefully, he reached for your hand again.

You let him.

His touch was delicate at first. Too delicate.

You lifted your eyes to his as he brushed the backs of his fingers across your cheekbone—like you were a painting, not a person. Like he didn’t trust that you were real.

So you said nothing. Just stepped closer and let your hands rest at the hem of his shirt. Waiting.

He gave a tiny nod. Barely.

You slid your fingers up, finding the fastenings along his back, those slits sewn carefully into the fabric to accommodate those massive wings. One by one, you unhooked them. The slats parted gently under your touch, fabric loosening as his wings shifted just slightly. 

Then you pulled the shirt up—slow, reverent. Your hands skimmed his ribs, his stomach—solid muscle, old scars. He stood perfectly still, letting you bare him inch by inch, until the shirt slid off and his chest rose unguarded in the faelight.

He looked like something holy. Or ruined. Or both.

You kissed the center of his chest.

Azriel exhaled—rough and quiet—and brought his hand to the back of your neck. Not pulling. Just holding.

Then he kissed you again.

And it changed.

The tenderness didn’t disappear, but it deepened—like a blade sheathed in velvet. His mouth moved with more hunger, more need, but never lost its care. He touched you like he’d never expected to be allowed. Like every inch of your skin was being memorized in real time.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t have to.

When his hands slid beneath the delicate fabric of your gown, you lifted your arms, arching just enough to give him room. When he paused at the clasp of your underthings, you nodded once. And when he sank to his knees, letting his forehead rest for just a moment against your stomach, you ran your fingers through his hair and whispered nothing but breath.

The bed caught you both gently.

And the world shrank.

He moved over you like a prayer—fingers first, reverent and unhurried. He learned you by touch. By breath. By the sound you made when his hand slid lower, when his mouth followed. And when you finally pulled him up—when you looked at him and didn’t say anything but yes—he pressed his forehead to yours like it might keep him from coming apart.

When he entered you, your hand trembled against his jaw. His name never left your mouth, but the breath of it did. Again. And again.

Slow. Then deeper. Then real.

It was not performance. Not frenzied. It was necessary.

You didn’t look away.

His shadows slipped along the edges of the room, brushing over the bedpost, the windowsill, your bare hip. Not invasive—protective. Cradling the space you created between you. And just once—just for a flicker—your own magic bloomed up in answer. That soft green-gold light you only used for pain, for healing. It lit along his spine where your fingers had dug in. It sank into him, even as he gasped quietly and thrust harder, undone by the gentleness of it.

No words passed between you. Just sound. Just motion. Just the raw, breathless truth of two people burning quietly where they touched.

You reached the edge first, fingers clenching tight in the sheets as he whispered your name like he’d known it his whole life.

He followed right after, head buried in the crook of your neck, body shuddering once, twice, a low groan breaking through his chest as he came apart inside you.

The silence afterward was almost sacred.

Just breath. Just the brush of your fingers along his back.

The shadows receded. The light dimmed.

And when he finally lifted his head, kissed your shoulder, then your collarbone, then the side of your mouth—

You let yourself hope.

Just a little.

Just enough.

The air had cooled.

Outside the window, the city had gone mostly quiet—only the faintest sounds drifting up from below. A wind chime. Distant laughter. 

Inside, the only movement was breath.

Azriel lay half-curled behind you, one arm draped low around your waist, the other tucked under the pillow you shared. His body was all heat and steady weight, his chest rising against your back with the kind of rhythm that made you want to cry.

Like he was still here. Like he would be.

You didn’t speak. Neither of you had—not since the last trembling breath between kisses, since the final touch that made the world go still.

Words weren’t ready. They didn’t need to be.

You shifted and let your fingers trace the edge of a scar on his chest—an old one, rough and puckered, just below his collarbone. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t tense. Just exhaled, slow and heavy, and turned his face toward the back of your neck.

A moment later, he brought your wrist to his mouth and kissed it.

Nothing more.

Just that.

Like a seal. Or a question. Or maybe an answer.

You closed your eyes.

The ache in your chest had changed. It wasn’t confusion anymore. It wasn’t the quiet, misnamed nerves that had haunted you these past days.

It was him.

The bond hummed somewhere low and deep in your bones—not demanding. Not loud. Just there. Waiting. Like it had always been there, and you’d only just looked up and found it watching.

You didn���t know what tomorrow would bring. Didn’t think of the promises that would be broken or rewritten, or who you’d have to face in the morning light.

But you knew this.

Knew the shape of his hand against your ribs. Knew the silence he wrapped you in wasn’t cold—it was shelter.

And as your breathing slowed again, as your fingers curled loosely around his, one last thought threaded through the stillness, calm and final:

It wasn’t the moment the bond snapped that changed everything. 

It was the moment between heartbeats—when he saw you, and knew he’d never be the same.

[liahaslosthermind]

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞!

Azriel x Historiographer!reader Summary: Azriel and his mate tried to tell his family about their mating bond. Unfortunately, arsonist nephews, tired (and frankly, scared) generals with a single eyebrow, and stressed out parents made the task seemingly impossible. Warnings: Inner Circle is obtuse, Nyx is vengeful, Rhys is kinda an asshole A/N: Reader’s job has little to nothing to do with the story, I just hate using “y/n” so I come up with loopholes to address the reader without using it. 

It had been 3 months since the Spy Master of the Night Court and Velaris’ Head Historiographer had stopped dancing around their feelings, 2 months since the mating bond had snapped between the two, and approximately 1 hour since they decided to tell their family. 

“They will be excited for us, my love.” She cooed, trying to fix the perpetual frown that adorned her mate’s face. “They will be annoying of course, they always are,” she grumbled, “but they will be happy. And they will finally stop worrying about whether or not you are going to die alone.” She teased, combing through Azriel’s hair as she tried to push it back, a style he hated but she absolutely loved. 

“I don’t see why we have to make it a thing.” Azriel replied, fixing his hair the second her hands left his head.

“A thing? You mean our mating bond? The one you prayed for every single day of your 500 year long life? You don’t want to make telling the most important people in your life into a thing?” 

“I just thought… maybe a surprise mating ceremony would be better.”

“Azriel, how do you think that will play out? ‘Surprise, we are mates and this is our mating ceremony! But don’t make it a big deal, we don’t want it turning into a thing!’” 

“Well, at the end of the ceremony we will disappear and go on vacation before they can say anything. That way they have time to cool down and we get to have a nice relaxing time together without their antics.” Azrel justified, or at least tried to.

The small smile that adored his lips while thinking about said vacation instantly dropped when she started laughing at him. 

“And what do you think will happen when we get back? If they don’t manage to crash our honeymoon just to get answers, then there will certainly be hell to pay when we come home. And I promise, it will end up being a much bigger thing than if we just told them tonight at dinner.” 

Azriel grumbled in response. She was right, of course, but it didn’t mean he looked forward to telling their family. He wasn’t ashamed of her, nor of the bond between them, how could he be? But Azriel never liked attention, it’s why his work was so perfect for him. But his family… they were nosy. They would make it a big deal and while, quite frankly, it was a big deal, Azriel wasn’t looking forward to the show. 

Fortunately for him, the Inner Circle was also far too obtuse at times, though this time it wasn’t really their fault.

Feyre and Rhysand had recently discovered that Nyx could Winnow. This happened about a month prior when Feyre went to wake her son up from his nap and found his cradle to be empty. After 45 minutes of panicked searching alongside Rhys, Mor, Elain, Lucien, Cassian, Nesta, Azriel, and a few of the priestesses, Feyre found her son in the arms of Amren, who had discovered him in front of her apartment door an hour prior. 

Baby Nyx loved his aunt Amren more than anyone else, much to the chagrin of his parents and the rest of their family. 

In the past month, various wards had been implemented to stop the High Lord and Lady’s child from disappearing again, but they have also had to deal with the various other abilities that seemingly manifested since. 

When Azriel and his mate finally made it to dinner, Cassian had one eyebrow and an already healing burn, Mor was missing a couple inches of hair that had seemingly been singed off, both Feyre and Rhys had eyebags like never before, and a very content Nyx was sat on the lap of a gloating Amren. 

“I hope we didn’t miss all the fun!” the historiographer joked, hoping to lighten the tense mood in the dining room. 

“Oh, you missed the show, but I’d be more than happy to recount the details for you.” Nesta spoke up, cackling when she looked at her one-eyebrowed mate who hadn’t stopped pouting since the incident. 

As the two late comers sat down and started to eat, the tension in the room didn’t cease. In fact, it seemed to get worse every time Nesta broke out into giggles when looking at Mor and Cassian. 

After far too many seconds of painful silence, Azriel received a kick on the leg from his mate. Looking at her, she hissed what he assumed to be a few “encouraging” words about him growing a pair. 

After taking a deep breath, Azriel cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the entire table. 

“We have been meaning to talk to you all about something. Now, I know things around here have been… rather tense. But hopefully this good news will-”

“One second-” The High Lord interrupted as a note appeared before him. Upon reading the missive, he groaned before passing it to Feyre, the letter eliciting the same reaction from her as well. “Madja got us in touch with a healer who specializes in High Fae child development. He says that this thing with Nyx is normal at this stage, especially with powerful parents, and that the powers displayed might not even stay. It's like the Mother is testing which abilities Nyx will have, and we haven’t even gotten to the worst of it yet.” Rhysand grumbled, his hand going through his uncharacteristically unruly hair. 

“Well when the two most powerful fae in Prythian love each other very much…” Mor started. 

“They curse the rest of their family by creating the most vengeful baby the world has ever seen.” Cassian hissed. After a kick on the shin from Feyre, and a smack on the chest from Nesta, he quickly added, “Not that we don’t love you Nyx. You are the light of all our lives and blah blah blah.” After an additional glare from Rhys, Cassian yelled: “He can’t even understand me! It's not like he knows what I am-” the general abruptly stopped talking when his salad caught on fire, causing the baby on Amren’s lap to start laughing. 

After the Shadows made quick work out of putting out the fire, Azriel spoke up once more, “As I said, I know you all have a lot going on right now-”

“No kidding.” Nesta interrupted. “I keep having to fight the camp lords to allow my Valkyrie to compete in the Blood Rite and I swear every time I bring it up they find new ways to make our life harder.” 

“I am sorry to hear that Nesta, but like Azriel said I think this news will-”

“The Illyrians are a backwards group that won’t respond to being asked to change their ways. I keep telling Rhysand he needs to be harder on them.” Azriel interrupted his mate. She would have been more upset had she not known how sore of a subject Illyrians and their beliefs were for her mate. 

“Azriel, we have discussed this before. You are letting your hatred of them get in the way of logical thinking. They won’t respond to abrupt changes either, you need to let me do my job.” Rhysand argued. 

Before Azriel could argue back, he felt a supportive squeeze on his hand from the female beside him, gently guiding him back on track. “Look, I am not here to discuss Illyria. If you all could just stay silent for a moment then-” 

Fire seized Cassian’s shoulder, most likely in response to the lighthearted glares he had been sending his nephew. While the leathers protected his skin from the heat, a chunk of his long brown locks had not been as fortunate. 

“Alright, clearly this isn’t working out for Nyx. It’s past his bedtime anyway, maybe we should call it quits.” Feyre spoke up, sending an apologetic look to Cassian. 

“If you all would give me just a moment-” Azriel started.

“Look, it's been stressful around here for us, Az. I promise I will listen to whatever shit you need to complain or argue about another day.” Rhysand interrupted. While the silence that followed would have given Az the opportunity to correct his brother’s, rather rude, assumption, his mate stopped him before he could speak up. 

“You know what, you’re right, tonight isn’t the night for any family discussions. We wouldn’t want to bother you all with our lives. Have a good night.” In the many years Rhysand had known the Head Historiographer of his court, and the many years since they had become friends- almost family, he had never heard her speak in such a tone. But before anyone else could get a word in, her and Azriel had disappeared into the shadows. 

Back at her apartment, Azriel watched as his mate, seething in anger, paced in front of the fireplace. 

“I cannot believe he really insinuated all you were trying to do was argue or complain when you specifically said it was good news! What a childish, egotistical, brat!” 

“My love, he is going through a lot with Nyx right now-”

“That does NOT give him the right to talk to you like that! If he were to speak to Cassian that way, Nesta would have bitten his head off. I mean how many times had he lost it when Nesta and Feyre fought? Gods, I should have really laid it on him. It is totally unacceptable that he-” Her impassioned rant was suddenly cut off by an equally as passionate kiss. 

Suddenly, she couldn’t have cared less about what the High Lord had to say. All that existed in that moment was her and her mate. 

When the two separated, all negative emotions had been depleted, the only care being the golden string that attached one soul to the other.  

“How about this,” Azriel spoke, still breathless from the kiss the two had shared, “We can make a game out of it. We tried telling them, how about now we just make it as obvious as possible without explicitly stating anything, and see how long it takes them to figure it out.” He suggested.

“And if they are truly too obtuse to catch on?” She asked.

“We can give them the time it takes to plan a proper mating ceremony. If by then they still haven’t figured it out, then we can go with my original plan. That way they can’t be upset because it would be their fault for not catching on, and we get to have fun.” 

“A part of me kind of hopes they don’t catch on now.” She giggled. 

“Oh, trust me, unless we spell it out for them, they won’t know a thing.” Azriel replied. 

A/N: I have ideas for part two, but I also have 1,000 other ideas and projects half written, so let me know if you would like a sequel!

Edit: Read Part 2 here!

[rosariau]

── ✶ feel complete

†∔ headcannons with pjo boys dating child of nyx!reader

†∔ pairing — jason grace, percy jackson, frank zhang, nico di angelo, will solace, leo valdez, ethan nakamura

! lovequeue ୧ notes — requested ! nonchalant / gender neutral reader both is cool 😛 also i fell asleep while writing this i’m sorry bae if it’s bad i gave up at the end

luke castellan subtly flirts with you constantly. (it’s irking you out, but you don’t stop him.)

“you come from night itself and still manage to be the brightest thing in my life,” he says, smirking like he doesn’t mean it — but he does. he really does.

he brings you cool stuff he got on his quests and compliments that would make aphrodite herself fold.

when they’re tired, he kisses your forehead and tells them he’s not going anywhere. “i’ve walked through worse,” he says. “and I’d do it again if it meant finding you.” corny. though your kinda a sucker for it.

frank zhang is quiet with you, respectful. he’s a little shy when you show up all dressed up (for once…), shadows curling at your heels, but he still offers you a seat beside him. “you’re pretty nice— not how everybody describes you,” he says one night, blushing down to his collar. and when you smile — just barely — he can’t stop staring. he’s soo happy and giddy like a schoolboy with a crush.

so, you and him sit together under the stars and don’t say much, but it feels like enough.

leo valdez is wild and loud, but your the quiet flame that keeps him grounded. he calls you “midnight incarnate” or “my spooky babe” with a shit-eating grin and hearts in his damn eyes. he’s fascinated by how your presence can be both comforting and… eerie at once.

soo, he does the normal thing he’d always do! make you small trinkets and try and get a smile out of you with his (gods awful) amazing, godsent humor.

“oh dios mío, nena!! look, look, look!” leo bursts into your cabin and disregards the fact that your siblings are eyeing him down like prey— but he obviously doesn’t care. “matching bracelets; i’m the, uh… light and your the dark! jus’ for you ‘nd me.”

will solace is the sun and your the moon. the boy literally glows, so…

but he’s absolute sunshine and soft smiles. he’ll brush your hair behind their ear and tells them they’re beautiful like the moon. “you don’t need to change,” he says. “you’re perfect like this.” even when you feel cold and distant, he keeps showing up — with warmth, with light, and with arms always open.

and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t fall asleep in his arms because of his soothing voice, smile— shit, his everything.

nico di angelo and you are very alike. you don’t need many words to communicate or express what you want. silence is both of your guys’ comfort, anyway— it works out for the both of you guys.

but you’re also scaring the shit out of him, too.

“hades!— man—! don’t pop out of nowhere and ask me for peach rings in your deep ass voice—“

jason grace is your star and your his moon. he’s the opposite if you; that’s why your guy’s personality sync so well. he’s always caring and patient with you. despite your weird ass mysterious self. though, his warm light keeps you from always being locked away in the dark 24/7.

“…babe. why’re you hiding in the shadows??” it’s kinda freaking him out, but that’s just how you are. so… he supports it!

percy jackson teases you endlessly about their creepy ass vibe, but beneath the jokes, he’s in awe of your character. he does try to use his (amazing) charm to get you to crack a smile. newsflash! it failed so badly he wanted to sink into hades right there and then.

“what’s a liar’s favorite instrument… a lyre!!” silence. you gave him that same resting bitch face and a raised brow. and percy prayed hades would take his soul right then and there until he heard an eventual laugh. *gods, your laugh was so beautiful…*

ethan nakamura knows what it’s like to be overlooked — to be feared, judged. but when ethan looks at you, it’s with softness, not fear. “you’re not too much,” he says one night, pulling them close. “you’re everything.” you two sit in the dark together, two quiet hearts beating side by side, learning what it means to be wanted. to be chosen.

[blurredfloweryblood]

hades threatening zagreus with the premise of punishing him if anything happens to Persephone makes me want to puke. I don't really remember the dialogue entirely, but I do remember that he mentions something along the lines of: "it doesn't matter if you are my son"

his love for Persephone blinds him from everything, and while it "sounds" romantic, it's absolutely horrible. he didn't take responsibility of anything happening around him that wasn't his duty. I don't blame him for his neverending load of work, no. And I don't blame him from being overwhelmed, tired, sad, angry.

But he never took responsibility for his actions regardless anything else. he appointed Nyx to care for his son, because he doesn't know how in the world he could take care of a young child, and she has experience, but at the same time, instills what he believes to be wisdom and experience.

he has heavily neglected zagreus over the years, never addressing him truly, maybe because saying his name hurts (given that it was chosen by his wife), berating him, or ignoring him altogether. he appointed people to teach him, and then realized that said people, who his child loves more than anything, care about him as well. and that love, he cannot crush, and it's bigger than any other threat he can make.

The worst part is that throughout the journey, he doesn't understand or care to think about why people love Zagreus. To him, he is a petulant, over confident, irresponsible, entitled child that doesn't know true suffering.

His yearning blinds him from the house that is there. He stops Zagreus because he wants to protect Persephone. And because he believes that Zagreus will harm her. That his very presence is a poisonous thing.

This post is not meant to exonerate Zagreus of his own flaws, no. But it is meant to concentrate how frustrating it is to watch a child do so much for his father, just to be acknowledged by his name when his wife says so. Zagreus has no fucking door for fucks sake. NO FUCKING DOOR.

He is isolated and at the same time, exposed to everything. Called useless, disgusting for having red blood. Unwanted by his father. Who starts to change because she is there. Not because of anything else.

He is doing it for her. And for the daughter that's yet to come.

Not for him. Never for him.

Always an angel. Never a god.

[acotarxreader]

Tease

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Friends with benefits is quickly running its course between you and Azriel with Mor's birthday party being the perfect setting to see which of you will cave first.

Warnings: Fluff, teasing, flirty

A/N: hope you enjoy this lil Az fic. I have an Eris one written but I think it needs some reworking that I don't have the energy for right now.

---------------------------------------------

“Az, have you seen my left shoe?” You scanned the room, hands on your hips as Azriel watched you from his bed, the sheet haphazardly covering his lower half. He reached his arm from behind his head to retrieve the quickly discarded shoe from behind his bedside lamp, throwing it towards you. 

“Don’t look at me like that” You laughed, firing it back towards his smug face, a laugh leaving him as you narrowly missed his dishevelled hair. 

“Get up Az, we gotta go to Ritas” he groaned in reply, pulling the covers over his face in hopes of blocking out the world. The evening you had spent together, much like the majority of them, had been impromptu and the two of you prepared yourselves to pull yourselves back together as if none of the previous time spent together had happened. 

“YNN, I’m tired go without me” he muffled through the cotton.

“I bet you are tired” You chuckled, Azriel quickly darting forward from under the sheet to pull you into his chest and back into the sheets of his bed. He nipped your neck playfully as you left your laughs come hard and fast, his legs knotting into yours as he hovered above you. You suddenly pushed him backwards before tapping against the side of your head gently, your code to one another that Rhysand was demanding the attention of your mind.

Azriel looked down towards you, examining your smiling face as it reacted to the words his brothers spoke that he wasn’t privy to. His eyes traced along the lovingly created smile lines decorating your face, down your neck and along your body before resting his eyes once again on yours as they sparkled for him. He could spend all day looking into them. This very thought struck Azriel hard, were feelings starting to move beyond friends with benefits? He fought the chill running across his wings, uncomfortable with the thought of allowing himself to push past the denial. Azriel pulled from you quickly, his ankle snagging on yours sending him colliding with the floor with a thud. You looked down at him on the floor, fighting the urge to burst with laughter as he scurried to get ready for Mor’s birthday party, bruised ego and tailbone in tow.

—--------------------------------------

Rita’s crowd grew and grew until fae practically flooded the street. The Inner Circle found their home in their usual booth, the joy radiating from around the well-worn table. Mor worked her way through the room, the birthday party of her dreams filling her with such utter feelings of home. 

“Do you know anyone besides us in here?” Elain shouted over the booming crowd to Azriel who laughed into the neck of his beer as he nodded. His foot gently tapped Rhysand’s shin beneath the table, waking the sleepy High Lord from his rest. 

“Sorry, Nyx is going through sleep regression” He yawned out, Cassian passing him another drink that he quickly liberated from the crystal. Azriel smiled, Nesta pulling Elain from his side to dance with her, Mor quickly filling the empty seat. 

“It’s exhausting being this popular” she beamed, taking Cassian’s drink from him and finishing it off. 

“Hey!”

“My birthday, my drink-” she grinned “-go get another one, Rhys is paying the tab”

“Rhys is doing what?” The High Lord laughed through a rogue yawn in reply.

“You said so, right before Cassian saved your sleep-deprived face from hitting your plate at dinner” The playful argument started to grow, Azriel smiling along before panning his eyes across the room to find the easiest way to the bar top. His gaze getting stuck on you resting your back against the oak, drinking from a tall glass while waiting for Feyre to finish her order. Cassian followed his brother's gaze from across the table, the grin knitting deeply across his face. 

“So Azzie, tell me, when are you and YN gonna stop pretending it's just sex and actually just sign the marriage licence, it's been like 7 months” 

"N-o no no" He managed to choke out between rapid taps to the back from Mor.

“Cass, don’t kill YN’s plaything off” Mor quipped while watching the colour return back to Azriel’s face.

“I’m not her plaything, maybe she’s mine” Azriel offered, trying to deflect. 

"And who exactly could you be talking about like that" Your voice had Azriel wishing his beer had just finished him off.

"Y/N, we were just messing with him"

"Ah yes, Cassy because I love when my sex life is the topic of conversation amongst my friends, although I suppose you've nothing going on in your own lives-" you blinked down at your friends "-And how is Nesta?" you added, Cassian sunk on the seat with a groan "-And that female from the continent?" sending Mor sliding too, leaving Azriel grinning to himself. 

“Well that's my cue to get more alcohol” Mor made her quick exit, allowing you to find your usual space next to Azriel in the booth, Feyre sitting in alongside Rhysand and Cassian. A pang of jealousy beat through Azriel as Feyre kissed Rhysands cheek sweetly, the open display of affection something he could never master. He shook his head gently to take the feeling away before realising his arm had instinctively found its way to behind you on the back of the bench. Shadows traced along your palm beneath the table, Azriel noticing his smokey friends curling into you naturally. He smiled down at them causing you to meet his eye with your own grin. Warmth spread through the Ilyrian as if you were the only person in the room. Azriel turned the feeling cold in his veins, pushing it to where he couldn’t reach with ease, his arm darting back to his side. 

“Are you alright Az?”

“Yeah!” Azriel shot back far too quickly to be casual and then stood suddenly, bumping the table and pulling the focus of the table towards him. You slid out to release him from the booth without further comment, the four of you watching him like a runaway animal as he found his way to the bar. Your three friends tore their eyes from Azriel and looked at you, with coordinated confusion. 

“Okay okay” You raised your hands up to chest height and then slid out to follow your closest friend. Azriel swallowed the drink he received whole before rapidly ordering another before the bartender could go too far from him.

“Az, what’s going on?” your voice gave him a small fright from his thoughts. 

“I uhh” Was all he could manage as he turned to face you, his eyes landing on Feyre and Rhysand as she pulled her mate to dance with her alongside her sisters. You followed his sightline towards the group where it landed on Nesta as the couple crossed her path.

“Nesta? Really?” You shuffled on the spot, fighting away the sound of jealous annoyance before it could rise in your throat. 

“No I was...wait does that make you jealous?” he couldn't force down his signature smirk and you hit him in the chest. 

“No I just... it's just stop staring at your friends mate like that” 

“You are jealous”

“I am not” your arms folded into your chest tightly, trying to drag your eyes to anywhere but the smirk.

“So I could ask her out and you’d be totally fine with it?”

“Well I mean Cassian might have something to say” He rolled his eyes as you stole his drink from the bar top, taking a swig. Azriel enjoyed the sight of your usual coolness escaping you and decided to have some fun with it. 

“Well okay what about...what about if I asked Cresseida out?” he scanned the room to find the person that would annoy you most and it was definitely her. You ran your tongue across your teeth before taking another deep drink.

“Yeah- yes that would be fi-okay” you said through gritted teeth, hitting the glass back down off the mahogany with white knuckles. Cresseida and you had had numerous run-ins during your role as emissary to the seasonal courts. Your defence of Cassian and his love of blowing things up was the catalyst to shatter the already fragile alliance you had. Her presence at Mor’s birthday party was an olive branch to the Summer Court.

He nodded at you before pushing off the bar and sauntering over to the pool table where Cresseida was. A distraction from you as well as a way for him to make you want him more, win-win in his books he thought. 

You white-knuckled the fresh tumbler of whiskey in your hand, seething energy out as you watched Azriel dazzle Cresseida. Mor joined your side just as the crystal began to crack in your palm. 

“Getting crushed by the crush YNN?” 

“Leave it Mor” She rolled her eyes at you before speaking again.

“You know he's only talking with her to annoy you yeah? He never shuts up about you, he’s definitely in his feelings”

“Really?”

“Yeah, c’mon YNN, the way he looks at you is enough to confirm anything” You pursed your lips before a smile grew across them. Feelings were never part of the deal but this was new information that made you feel so incredibly fuzzy.

“That, that I can work with” you winked at your best friend before heading to the bathroom.

You returned to Azriel’s side moments later, standing very close after he took his shot, Cresseida’s stare heating you from across the pool table.

“Are you okay YNN? Something wrong?” he stood up from his stance and leaned against the pool stick with his famous smirk painted on. Cresseida watched you carefully before lining up her own shot.

“No no, nothing” Your hand ran down his side and into his front pocket causing him to jump slightly. You then slowly slipped your now empty hand back out before winking and walking away slowly, knowing he was watching.

Cresseida took her shot while Azriel put his hand into his pocket, his eyes widened immediately at the feeling of a lacy thong balled up in the fabric. Azriel’s eyes shot to you while you leaned against the bar and gave him a small little wave with just your fingertips before you took up another drink in your hand and sat back into the booth with your friends. Azriel made an empty apology to the Princess of the Summer before practically running back to the booth, sliding in alongside you once again.

 “You think that's cute?” he whispered under his breath to you when the conversation around you two got too loud for anyone to hear you both. You just took another sip through your smirk. A shadow slipped from around your ankle, up along your thigh beneath the table, tracing the lining of your skirt before slipping beneath the fabric. Your body jolted forward at the sensation of the delicate wicked touch, the table looked at you briefly before turning their attention back to Feyre’s story. 

“Push in!” Nesta half demanded to the two of you as she and Elain had finally had their fill of dancing while Mor squished in alongside Feyre, Rhysand and Cassian.

“We should get another chair” Rhysand suggested. 

“Don’t be silly” You smiled at him, a smile Azriel knew had a deeper meaning. You stood slightly in the booth before planting yourself on top of Azriel’s lap, the two sisters now happy to fill the space. This new configuration suited everyone but Azriel and as the conversation grew back to its joyous loud volume you couldn’t help but push further into the Spymaster. You felt him grow beneath you, your skirt riding up a little at your subtle movement, Azriel gripped the seat of the booth containing his growing imagination. 

“Yeah he would be perfect for YNN!” The mention of your name in the conversation brought the two of you back to earth. Mor had had enough of watching the games between you and she had a bet to win with Cassian.

“Who would?”

“Yeah who? Who would be perfect for her?” Azriel hadn’t meant to come off as bitter as he had and you tried your best to not laugh. 

“This wonderful male from Day, he sounds perfect for you YN”

“Sounds great, give me his det-AILS” you squealed slightly as Azriel squeezed your thigh beneath the table. 

“Hey YN, I should bring you home, remember you said you didn’t not to stay out too late because you have that big meeting in the morning with Summer?”

“No I don't remember th-AT” You threw a dirty look as he squeezed your leg again.

“Oh wait yes, I do remember that” Nesta huffed at your reply, having to stand again to let the two of you out of the booth. You both wished Mor a happy birthday before leaving almost as quickly as you came, Mor putting out her palm to receive her bet money from Cassian. 

—-----------------------------

Azriel sat at the foot of his bed as he watched you collect your things from around his studio apartment, all done in complete silence. 

“See you later Az” You rushed your words out, hands full of various artefacts as you went for the front door. Azriel cut your course off, you bumping gently into his chest. 

“Are you going to make contact with that male Mor was talking about?” His clipped tone coated you. 

“I don’t know” You raised an eyebrow, his hand taking hold of your wrist before you could reach for the door behind him. 

“Well…what if you didn’t?”

“Then I’d still be single”

“What if you weren't single?”

“Azriel” You pulled from him and threw your stuff down on the kitchen table before taking up your favourite spot on his couch, Azriel joining your side soon after.

“So do you wanna be together or not Az?! I can't take these mixed messages”

“I don't know!”

“WELL FIGURE IT OUT” Your voice got away from you, making him shuffle in his seat, his own voice escaping him-

“I DON’T KNOW I DON'T KNOW! ALL I KNOW IS I DON'T WANT YOU WITH ANY OTHER MALE”

“AND I DON'T WANT YOU WITH ANY OTHER FEMALE SO WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?!” he caught your face suddenly pulling you into him, his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth almost viciously, you pulled him further on top of you.

“No no no Az this doesn't solve anything!” You pushed him into the chest away from you.

“But this is how we always solve things”

“And maybe that's not working anymore” you said quietly as he retreated back again.

“Yeah, maybe it isn't… what are we gonna do?”

“What do you wanna do?”

“What if-what if we just saw each other” It took all that he was to rip his eyes from the carpet and say that to your face “-I-mean-I mean if you wan-t to I mean we don-t have to” 

“Okay”

“Okay?”

“Yeah” You beamed, Azriel matched your wide smile, instantly pressing you back into the couch to hover above you. You ran a hand down his face before his kissed you gently

“Az what happens if this doesn't work?”

“What happened if it does?” Your only reply was to kiss him once again, the first of the rest of your lives.

------------------------------------

What do you think???

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 22

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 5k

Trigger warning; war, death, blood, violence

notes; hey heyyyy ! What's up ? Here is the new chapter hope that you will enjoy it, see you soon !!!

previous ✧ next

The tent was dimly lit, the soft glow of faelight lamps casting long shadows over the makeshift table in the center. It smelled faintly of salve, leather, and cold night air seeping in through the canvas. The war outside had stilled for now, the battlefield quiet but heavy—like the world was holding its breath before the next scream.

Azriel stood by your side, one hand resting lightly on your lower back, more to remind himself you were still here than anything else. Cassian lounged on a low bench, wings flexing occasionally, as if the tension hadn’t yet left his muscles. Mor sat across from him, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, eyes fixed on you.

“So let me get this straight,” she said, raising a sculpted brow. “FIRST, you don’t tell me about the wedding. SECOND, you casually make people explode from the inside? Really, Y/N?”

Cassian snorted. “Honestly, you should be more offended about the wedding. But the exploding thing is pretty impressive too.”

You rolled your eyes, untying the blood-crusted ties of your gloves and tossing them onto the table. “Don’t act like it’s a big deal, Mor.”

“A big deal? You annihilated someone in front of a tent full of healers and warriors.”

“I’ve been a field healer before. I might’ve spent the last few centuries traveling, but I’m not new to this.” You looked between them all, the calm in your voice layered with fatigue. “I just didn’t have much reason to train the more… violent applications of my skills since I got back to Velaris.”

Azriel’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing. You could feel the weight of his worry pressing through the bond like a second heartbeat.

Cassian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Still. That wasn’t healing. That was execution.”

You met his gaze without flinching. “He was already gone, Cass. If I hadn’t acted, more would’ve followed.”

That silenced the room for a moment.

Then the tent flap shifted, and Rhysand and Feyre stepped inside, both looking like they’d just come from a battlefield of a different kind—paperwork and High Lord politics. Rhys’s eyes swept the space quickly, noting the tension, the exhaustion, the way Azriel’s body all but shadowed yours.

“We heard what happened,” Rhys said quietly. “The camp’s still talking about it.”

Feyre gave you a small, tired smile. “You alright?”

You nodded. “I’m fine. Just tired. And angry.”

“That makes six of us,” Cassian muttered.

Rhys crossed his arms, his expression grim. “The report from Winter confirms it. Whatever that warrior was—it’s not isolated. They found another.”

Your blood turned cold.

“Then this isn’t infiltration,” Azriel said darkly. “It’s strategy.”

You turned toward Feyre, your voice gentling. “And Nyx?”

Feyre’s face softened instantly. “He’s safe. In Velaris with Amren and Elain. They won’t let anything happen to him.”

Rhys added with a faint smile, “He’s still asking for his mama every five minutes and trying to climb onto the furniture he shouldn’t. Elain says he keeps throwing his stuffed illyrian toy at the windows like it’ll fly.”

Before any of you could say more, the flap opened again.

Nesta stepped in, face flushed from the cold night, a faint streak of blood drying on her temple. Her braid was loose over one shoulder, but her posture was as composed and commanding as ever.

“I was with one of the priestesses who came with the Dawn Court convoy. She stayed behind when the ridge was hit, kept shielding the trainees until they were all out.”

You straightened. “Is she alright?”

“She’s alive. Barely. She asked for you.” Nesta hesitated, then added, “Just you.”

Azriel stepped toward you instinctively, but stopped himself.

You were already reaching for your satchel.

“I’m coming,” you said, sliding your gloves inside.

You turned to Azriel and kissed him—slow, grounding, his shadows curling softly around your calves as if they, too, didn’t want to let go. His hand hovered briefly at your waist before you pulled away.

As you crossed the tent, your voice rang out, firm and sharp as steel. “If any of you cross into the healer’s tent in a state that’s even close to death, I swear I will heal you and kick your ass the moment you wake up. Understood?”

Cassian raised his hands. “Yes, ma’am.”

Then, just before you stepped out—

“And you better go to sleep,” you said through the bond, your voice slipping into Azriel’s mind like the brush of lips against his ear. “If I catch you anywhere else, I’ll knock you out myself. Understood?”

His reply was immediate, soft and sure.

“I love you.”

There was a pause. Then:

“Me too. I love you. But rest. Please.”

You hesitated just at the edge of the canvas, eyes still on the night beyond.

“Come and join me when you can.”

“I will come back to you.”

And with that vow glowing quietly between you like a star in the dark, you stepped out into the cold.

Back in the healer’s tent, the night stretched long.

Too long.

The kind of night that had no edges—no clean break between hours, no breath between one emergency and the next. Only the endless, rhythmic churn of pain and magic, death and mercy. The kind of night where the only measure of time was the growing ache in your shoulders and the way your feet had long forgotten what comfort meant.

Reports came in, scouts and sentries confirming no new signs of Koeshiev’s influence since the attack. No other corrupted warriors. No unexplained disappearances.

You should have felt relief.

And you did. Somewhere beneath the layers of dread and fatigue, you clung to it like a thread of gold in the dark.

But even without possession, the night was merciless.

Because healers never stopped working.

During the day, you faced the aftermath of battle—burns, lacerations, broken bones, shredded wings. Warriors carried in by their comrades, covered in dirt and glory, smelling of steel and ash. But at night… at night, the battlefield changed.

It wasn't just about the wounded anymore.

It was infection.

Blood loss.

Organ failure.

Warriors who'd refused to stop fighting until the sun dipped past the horizon—and only then collapsed, nearly gone.

And worse: the fear.

Fear that Koeshiev had already gotten inside them. Fear that every shadow on the wall might not be cast by firelight, but by something else.

You caught it in the way the volunteers flinched every time someone jolted upright on a cot. In the too-quiet conversations. In the way even the veteran healers now kept their tools a little closer, their magic resting just at the surface of their skin.

It was chaos, barely hidden beneath protocol.

And you were its anchor.

Every few minutes brought something new—a shoulder that wouldn’t stop bleeding, a stomach wound that turned septic, a child, not more than sixteen, sobbing because the friend he’d trained with for years had bled out beside him on the ride back to camp.

You patched them.

You touched their hands.

You didn’t let your voice shake when giving orders.

And every time one of the other healers broke—choked on a sob, or froze, or backed out of a tent—you stepped in.

You reminded them what they could do.

What they had to do.

Because there was no one else.

At some point, you realized you hadn’t eaten.

Or slept.

You couldn’t remember the last time you sat down.

But when a healer stumbled near the basin, elbow deep in cauterization ash, you grabbed them by the wrist, steadied their breath, and guided them back to their patient.

“I’ve got you,” you said.

You weren’t sure who you meant anymore.

Dawn was a pale thing creeping under the edges of the tent. You only noticed it because the lanterns were starting to lose their dominance over the light. Your magic was threadbare. Your throat dry from shouting instructions.

You’d just finished binding the stump of a Winter Court soldier’s leg—his third surgery, and he’d lived—and were pressing clean gauze against the bandage when you heard them approach.

Footsteps. Steady.

Rodan and Veras entered together—dressed, alert, fresh.

You hadn’t realized how exhausted you looked until you saw them standing there, eyes sweeping over the room with practiced calm.

“We’ll take it from here,” Rodan said gently.

“You’re done for now,” Veras added, her magic already humming at her fingertips.

You nodded once, too tired to argue.

“Reports?” Veras asked.

“Already filed,” you rasped. “Everyone knows. They’re watching closely. No new incidents overnight.”

Rodan clasped your forearm in thanks. “Then go rest.”

You turned, then paused at the flap of the tent and raised your voice just enough to carry through the main rows of cots and healer tables:

“Great job tonight, all of you heading to rest,” you said, voice worn but steady. “You held the line when it mattered most.”

A few heads turned. A few tired smiles broke through.

You met eyes with the incoming shift—wide awake, still fresh, but already tensing.

“To the rest of you,” you said, voice sharpening. “Good luck. And keep your heads clear. You know what’s out there now.”

A murmur of acknowledgment passed through the tent.

You let the flap close behind you.

And finally—finally—you allowed your knees to weaken, your breath to shake, and your heart to slow from its relentless, controlled rhythm.

You found him in one of the tent they'd given the Night Court—just past the outer edge of the war camp, quiet and dim and mercifully private. A single lamp glowed on a low table beside the bed, casting Azriel’s back in warm, golden light as he lie, wings stretching around the bed.

You paused in the entrance, your heart stuttering just slightly at the sight.

The intricate sun and moon tattoo danced across his shoulder blades, ringed with stars and shadows, black ink woven in elegant arcs that pulsed faintly with your bond. That mark was yours. Yours. Etched across the planes of his powerful body—the one that had fought for centuries, borne blades and broken wings, bled for people who never knew his name.

And now it bore you.

His mate.

His reason to come back.

You smiled faintly, one hand resting at your chest. For a moment, you didn’t speak—just looked. At the strong, broad shoulders, at the mess of dark hair still damp from a quick scrub, at the tension that hadn’t fully left his spine even now.

Then he turned slightly, sensing you through the bond.

He didn’t smile.

Not at first.

He just held out a hand, palm up, like a silent question.

You stepped inside and began peeling off your coat, your leathers, your blood-spattered tunic. Your voice was quiet. “I stink, Az. Let me clean off first.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he said, voice raw, barely above a whisper. “Please... Please, just come next to me.”

The tenderness in it broke something loose in your chest.

You didn’t say anything else—just stripped down to your underthings and crossed the tent. The moment you sank onto the bed, Azriel reached for you.

And held you.

No hesitation. No fear.

Just arms that wrapped fully around your waist and pulled you closer to him, his face buried against your neck, his breathing uneven.

You exhaled against his shoulder, letting your body collapse into his. He was so warm. So solid and strong—muscle and shadow and quiet strength pressed into your front like an anchor in a storm. His wings tucked around you slowly, as if they, too, had been waiting for your return.

Your fingers slid into his hair, combing it back gently, and you looked down at him—at this male who had lived through so much, carried so much, and still found a way to love you fiercely.

He didn’t speak. Neither did you.

Not at first.

Because love didn’t always need words. Not when your entire body hummed with it. Not when the tattoos on your backs still glowed faintly with the promise of forever. Not when his heartbeat answered yours, steady and low and there.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m here.”

“I know.” His breath caught. “But I needed to feel it.”

You didn’t move from his arms, didn’t shift an inch. Just wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders and held him the way he so often held others—silent, steadfast, and without conditions.

And in that fragile, holy quiet, both of you finally let the war go for just a moment.

His thumb was tracing slow circles at the base of your spine, right where your skin met the edge of the moon tattoo you shared—two halves of a constellation woven in shadow and light.

“You know,” he murmured against your temple, voice gravelly with sleep and emotion, “you scared the shit out of me tonight.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “What, you thought I could only make small stars?” You arched a brow, a faint smirk teasing at your lips. “I’m hurt that you underestimated me, love.”

Before he could respond, you leaned in and kissed him—slow and soft, a brush of apology and affection all at once. His hand slid up your back, holding you like you might disappear.

Azriel exhaled against your lips, shaking his head slightly. “Never. I would never underestimate you.” His voice dropped, low and full of quiet awe. “But you never seem to stop surprising me.”

You smiled into the hollow beneath his jaw, resting your cheek there, listening to his heart—its steady, familiar rhythm like a balm.

He kept speaking, his voice quiet and close.

“And when I saw you across the tent—when I felt that magic rise from you, sharp and impossible—I knew I couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.”

You hummed in response, eyes already drifting shut. The weight of the night, of war, of everything you’d poured into saving lives—it was too much. And now, in his arms, your body was surrendering at last.

Azriel kept talking. He told you about the moment he realized Koeshiev was near. About how your scent cut through the battlefield like a lifeline. About how he wanted a lifetime of quiet nights just like this.

But you didn’t hear the end of it.

You were already asleep, curled against his chest, your breath soft against his skin.

He pulled the blanket over both of you, kissed your forehead once, and held you tighter.

The shadows flickered low around the tent. Outside, the camp was still, the world holding its breath between battles.

And inside, where two matching rings glinted faintly in the dim lamplight, love kept the dark at bay.

You woke alone.

Or—mostly alone.

The bed beside you was empty, the warmth of Azriel’s body long since faded from the sheets. But a few of his shadows lingered in the quiet of the tent, coiled loosely near your pillow like sleeping cats. One flicked lazily toward you as you stirred, brushing lightly against your shoulder in greeting.

You smiled.

It wasn’t the same as having him there, but it was something. A tether. A message.

I’m still here.

You let yourself breathe slowly, your body aching in places you hadn’t even known could ache. The cot creaked softly as you stretched, muscles sore, bones heavy. But the moment your hand brushed the edge of your blanket, a memory hit—soft lips on your forehead just before dawn. A whisper of a kiss. The faint scent of night-chilled leather and cedar.

Azriel.

You’d barely been conscious at the time—more shadow than person—but you remembered now. He had leaned over you in the gray-blue hush of morning, brushing your hair gently off your face before pressing his lips to your skin.

“I love you,” he’d whispered, so quiet you might’ve believed you dreamed it.

“I’ll be back soon.”

And then he was gone, into the shadows once more.

Now, you reached out and lazily curled your fingers through the one shadow still hovering near your wrist. It twirled around your fingers, almost playfully.

“I miss him too,” you murmured.

The shadow hummed low in response, then curled protectively around your hand, a living promise that he hadn’t gone far. You closed your eyes again for a breath, your heart swelling with the quiet ache of love—and the knowledge that even in war, even in absence, he always left a piece of himself behind to watch over you.

Just like you always waited for him to return.

The days that followed blurred into one another—blood-soaked, fire-scarred, and utterly relentless.

The fighting grew more violent. More deadly. The enemy adapted faster than any of them had anticipated. What had once been waves of chaos now struck with calculated precision. Koshiev’s forces didn’t just want victory—they wanted to break them. To drain their hope. To rip apart their defenses piece by piece, both on the field and in the minds of those holding the line.

You found yourself drowning in the aftermath.

Each hour brought in more wounded than the last. Bodies twisted, burned, mauled. Arrows laced with something foul—poison that defied your most sacred herbs. Magic-wrought injuries that refused to close. Some soldiers arrived already gone, carried in only so their comrades could say goodbye before being burned or buried.

The tents became a graveyard of sounds: the wet gasp of someone trying to breathe through crushed lungs, the steady hum of spells cast without pause, the shouted orders of healers desperately trying to make sense of the carnage.

Your hands didn’t stop moving.

Neither did your mind.

Between battles and triage, you were pulled into meetings—war councils so tense they felt like battlegrounds of their own. You sat beside Rhysand and Feyre, giving updates on morale, magical depletion, healer rotations, and most grimly of all, the body count.

And through it all… you barely saw Azriel.

You passed him in corridors, exchanged glances during strategy briefings, sometimes caught a fleeting brush of fingers when seated side by side—but your shared tent was almost always empty. When you came back, exhausted and covered in someone else’s blood, the sheets were cool where his body should have been. And when he returned, silent and tight-lipped after flying patrols or delivering reports, he often found your side of the bed untouched, the faint imprint of your pillow the only proof you’d been there.

A few times, your paths crossed. A look. A kiss barely long enough to soften the ache. A whispered, “Are you okay?” with no time for an answer. Then one or both of you was gone again.

You hated it.

But you understood it.

Because war didn’t stop for love—not even the deepest kind.

Ather remained faithfully by your side.

He had shed that awkward nervousness, hardened by fire and sweat. The young Illyrian had thrown himself into the healer camp’s chaos with stubborn resilience. You rarely needed to bark orders anymore—he knew where to be. Knew how to lift, how to bind wounds, how to keep someone breathing until you got to them.

He never wandered far from you.

Sometimes you caught him watching you in those breathless pauses between patients—not out of worry, but something like fierce admiration. Not because you were perfect, but because you endured.

One night, during a particularly grim hour—when the screaming didn’t stop, when the air smelled like ash and blood and rot—you caught Ather staring at you after you saved a soldier missing half their chest.

You were soaked in blood. Magic flickered at your fingertips like a dying flame. And you were trembling.

He said nothing.

Just reached into your kit and handed you a clean cloth.

And you nodded—grateful.

It was late when they brought him in.

Not unconscious, not bleeding out—but wounded enough that two soldiers flanked him on either side, wary and watchful. Rhysand walked under his own power, but his jaw was tight, his breathing controlled in that way that told you he was forcing it to be.

You were elbow-deep in stitching a gash along a Dawn Court archer’s thigh when you saw him enter.

You swore under your breath, handing the rest of the work off to Elira with quiet instructions before pulling your gloves off. Rhys met your eyes across the tent with a nod of acknowledgement, but you could see the pain etched just beneath his calm veneer.

You didn’t waste time. You waved him toward an empty cot and grabbed your satchel of salves and spells, already bracing yourself for whatever this was.

“It’s not serious,” he said as you approached, even before you could open your mouth.

You gave him a withering look. “That’s what every warrior says right before they collapse.”

Rhysand offered a half-smile, more tired than amused. “I wouldn’t make your job harder if I didn’t have to.”

You crouched beside the cot and examined the deep gash slicing across his ribs, just under the left arm—clean, but long, and still bleeding sluggishly.

He winced as you began to clean it. “Took a blade meant for someone else,” he admitted. “Could’ve been worse.”

“It always could’ve been worse,” you said flatly, inspecting the edge of torn flesh. “But this… this should’ve been avoidable.”

Rhys’s silence said he agreed.

You applied pressure first, then gently began weaving a slow healing spell into the wound, your magic carefully coaxing the tissue to knit. Rhysand’s breathing evened out under your touch, the lines at the corners of his mouth softening.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the tent filled the silence—murmured voices, the clinking of glass vials, the soft rustle of sheets, the occasional pained grunt or gasp. You’d gotten used to the noise. It had become the heartbeat of your days. But now, next to Rhysand, it felt suddenly louder. More pressing.

“How long has it been now?” you asked softly, eyes still focused on your work.

He exhaled slowly. “Twenty days.”

You nodded. “Feels like a year.”

He chuckled faintly. “Only a year? You’re generous.”

The smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “We’re barely holding them in the Middle. If they push west…”

“I know,” he said, his voice dropping low. “If they reach Summer or Dawn… it changes everything.”

You leaned back, just for a moment, to give the wound time to settle. “You think they will?”

Rhys hesitated. It was rare to see him unsure. He was a High Lord, a general, a politician, a brother. But now, in the flickering half-light of your tent, he looked tired. Tired in his bones. In his soul.

“I think… they’re waiting for something,” he said at last. “Koeshiev isn’t stupid. He’s testing our limits. The moment one of us cracks—he’ll pour through like water through stone.”

You nodded again, slowly beginning to wrap his torso with clean bandages. “We can’t crack.”

“No,” Rhys agreed. “We can’t.”

You worked in silence for a few beats more before you spoke again, quieter now. “Do you think we’ll survive this?”

Rhysand’s eyes found yours—dark, steady, and laced with something you couldn’t name. “Yes,” he said.

Then, after a pause, “But I don’t think we all will.”

You swallowed. “I know.”

You finished tying off the bandage, brushing the back of your hand gently against his arm. “We’re losing people every day. Not just soldiers. Civilians too. The healers are breaking. I’m breaking, Rhys.”

His hand found yours.

“You’re not alone.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You hadn’t cried in days. If you started now, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

“Sometimes I think I came back just to watch everything I care about burn,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “You came back to stop that from happening. And you’re doing that. Every minute you hold this tent together. Every life you save. You are not a bystander in this war. You’re one of the reasons we still have a chance.”

You let that settle between you. The weight of belief. The burden of hope.

“You and Feyre…” you began softly. “You still get to hear about Nyx?”

Rhys nodded slowly. “When we can. He’s safe. Elain and Amren have been godsends.”

“I miss him,” you admitted.

“He misses you, too.” A pause. “We tell him stories. About you. About the brave healer who will come home when the war is done.”

Your throat tightened. “You shouldn’t give him that promise.”

Rhys’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but with certainty. “It’s not a promise. It’s a truth. You will come back.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know if it was true.

And so you squeezed his hand once more, and stood, gathering your tools. “You need rest. Don’t even think about flying for a day or two.”

He smirked. “You sound like Madja.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As he rose to leave, Rhysand turned back, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “You’re not allowed to fall apart yet, Y/N.”

You looked up at him. “I know. I’m not done putting everyone else back together.”

And with that, the High Lord of the Night Court stepped back into the war—and you turned back toward the next wound, the next hour, the next weight to carry.

The light filtering through the tent was harsh—midday sun beating down on canvas already stained with blood and soot. The air was thick with the sour tang of magic, sweat, and the sterile sharpness of your salves. Outside, the sounds of distant battle rumbled like an oncoming storm, but inside, the healer’s quarters were a steady, brutal rhythm: shouting, stitching, casting, binding. The steady tick of life slipping away and being yanked back by sheer force of will.

You and Ather moved in tandem now, no longer needing to speak much—his hands were already reaching for what you needed before you asked, his movements sharp and sure, even if his face betrayed the exhaustion underneath.

“You’re getting too good at this,” you muttered, your voice rough from hours of shouting over pain and command.

“I’d rather be bad and somewhere else,” he replied, setting a bone back into place while you channeled healing light through the soldier’s crushed leg.

You gave him a grim smile. “Fair.”

Beside you, Ather dropped onto a stool with a huff, barely keeping upright as he cleaned his blade and flexed a bloodied hand.

“Back when they told me I was being assigned to healer duty…” he started, voice rough, low enough to barely rise above the din of the tent, “I was furious.”

You glanced over, just once. He didn’t stop.

“I wanted to be on the front lines. Swinging steel. Earning glory like the others.”

You nodded slowly, turning back to check the stitches on a soldier’s side. “Changed your mind?”

Ather gave a short, humorless laugh. “Now? Now I’m sure I’m actually going to do something useful here. Something that matters. Something that might even last.”

He looked at the healer’s tent around him—at the volunteers working, the quiet moans of pain, the hands that shook but didn’t stop tending wounds.

“I’d rather stand here and fight with you than die in some muddy field without even knowing if I mattered.”

You didn’t say anything, but the words lodged deep in your chest, reverberating. A quiet, shared understanding. No glory. No songs. Just service. Just survival.

That was all the moment allowed.

Because the tent flap whipped open a heartbeat later, and a soldier—bloodied, wild-eyed—stumbled in, gasping like the air had been ripped from his lungs.

“The west line—they’re through! They’ve broken through the ridge—they’re coming, they’re coming now!”

Chaos.

For one long second, everything was too quiet. Every healer froze. Every patient stopped groaning. And you—your body went cold.

Not because of the scream. But because of the wave of wrongness that swept over you a heartbeat later, like an icy shadow curling around your spine.

You shoved the soldier you were tending to into Elira's hands. “Secure the wounded. Now.”

“Y/N—”

“NOW!”

The tent exploded into motion. Healers scrambled. Patients were dragged toward the reinforced center line of the camp. Weapons, usually hidden beneath cots or bundled in corners, were being unsheathed with trembling hands.

You stepped outside just in time to hear the first horn blow—not one of theirs.

Enemy.

You turned to Ather, who was already at your side, sword drawn. His siphons were glowing a sharp, determined green. The tree line far in the distance writhed with movement, dark shapes swarming like ants cresting a hill. The enemy wasn’t here yet—but they would be. And soon.

The air was wrong again. Heavier. Charged.

Ather stepped up beside you, jaw tight, eyes forward.

You stared ahead, squinting at the horizon, hands balled at your sides.

Then you muttered, too loud for him not to hear—

“For fuck’s sake… fuck this shit.”

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[sixosix]

m m m m maybe blanket plus yuuta plus hurt/comfort maybe. maybe 🤞

in which rika likes you because yuuta definitely, definitely does.

warnings wc 800, mention of injuries and descriptions of blood !! careful when u read <3 also i took hurt comfort literally BWHAHSAH hope i did your expectations justice nyx ily

5K EVENT SPECIAL | EVENT MASTERLIST

“Yuuta. Yuuuuta.”

Rika’s voice echoed in the quiet hall. Yuuta winced, wishing Rika would keep it down; it was 2 AM, and no one would appreciate being woken up around this hour. But he knew that if he said so, Rika would be sad, and he didn’t want to hurt Rika and cause a worse scene.

“I’m fine, Rika-chan, really,” Yuuta murmured.

Rika growled unhappily. Yuuta, too, knew that he was lying. Although his wounds weren't life-threatening, he still needed to get them treated before they got infected. But Yuuta had just come back to this room—he was so, so tired. Sleeping in wouldn’t hurt anyone but him, right?

“Yuuta!” Rika snapped. It reverberated and shook the walls.

“Shh, Rika-chan,” Yuuta whispered hastily. “Please, our friends are sleeping.”

“Yuuta?” 

Both Yuuta and Rika fell silent, alarmed. That voice certainly wasn’t Rika’s, and it most definitely came from the door.

“Yuuta?” you asked again, followed by a knock. “Are you okay in there?”

“I—I’m—I’m fine!” Yuuta yelped.

“Didn’t you just come back from a mission? Why are you here instead at Ieiri-sensei’s?” Your voice was muffled by the barrier that separated you both, but it was still enough of your voice to have Yuuta’s ears reddening.

“I was! I’m resting now!” Yuuta lied straight through his teeth, embarrassed beyond belief. In truth, he didn’t want to disturb her.

“Yuuta’s a liar!” Rika chose not to stay silent at the worst time. “Liar!”

The door swung open. Yuuta didn’t have enough time to hide a steadily growing red shirt or his pretty much the same face. The air thickened as you drew closer, and Yuuta struggled to tell if it was because of Rika or his reaction to you.

“Okkotsu Yuuta,” you said, deceptively calm. Yuuta felt the hair on the back of his arms rise in alarm. “Yuuta, don’t tell me that the stain on your shirt isn’t from ketchup.”

It was his blood, so Yuuta obediently stayed silent.

You sighed and spun around to leave the room. Yuuta’s chest ached as he watched you leave. His lip trembled, and he looked over to Rika, who seemed to be giving him that same stare of disappointment.

Yuuta shrunk in on himself. “I think I made Y/N mad…”

“Stupid Yuuta,” Rika trilled. “Yuuta is an idiot!”

“I know, I know,” Yuuta cried. “I get it now.”

As he was preparing to wallow, Footsteps emerged once again. You burst into the room with a first aid kit and a stern glare that made the protests die on Yuuta’s tongue. Strangely, Rika was silent.

“Let me see,” you demanded.

Yuuta’s face flamed with embarrassment, but he obliged and tugged on his shirt. Most of the injuries were cuts on his torso that would surely hurt once he showered, but again, it wasn’t anything worth all of this. He braced himself for the stinging pain once the cotton grazed his open wound, but instead, he found himself too flustered by your proximity to even notice you were already working on his wounds.

The room was dead silent, save for Yuuta’s labored breathing. Rika had disappeared; Yuuta chalked it up to him not being in danger anymore. 

“Yuuta, if this happens again, come to my room, okay?” you said softly. 

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. I’m asking you to.”

Yuuta deflated. “I can’t just disturb you.”

“I want you to disturb me.”

What a dangerous thing to say. Yuuta’s gaze went sharper. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Your touch was too gentle. You faced Yuuta’s gaze head-on, fearless. “And you would do the same for me. Aren’t you the one being unfair?”

Yuuta sighed. He could never win when it came to you, anyway.

“Thought so,” you mused, carefully pulling his shirt down again. “You should learn how to ask, Yuuta.”

“I’m trying,” he muttered.

You tugged on the blanket folded neatly by his side and draped it over his shoulders. The heat of your touch remained in the blanket's warmth. When you stepped back to grin proudly at your work on a flustered and helplessly endeared Yuuta, you then frowned.

“Hey, where’d Rika go? I thought she wanted to share the blanket.”

“I think she wanted you to share it with me,” Yuuta said before he could think about it.

“Oh.” You blinked. “Is that so? Well, I guess that’s not a bad idea.”

Liar, he could hear Rika’s voice. Well, he never denied it.

Yuuta laid down carefully and lifted an arm from under the blanket. You crawled inside and settled beside him, launching into a ramble about how you were worried sick when Yuuta didn’t return early. He still struggled to ask for what he wanted, so he would settle for this.

[animezinglife]

Nyx Headcanons

Headcanons for my favorite little bean, because we don't talk about him enough.

He 100% inherits Rhys's "earth-shattering" power. That extra chapter where Feyre and Rhys were deciding on a name and basically felt powers shifting in the Force when Nyx came up makes me firmly believe that.

He's a good, sweet kid but also goes through a few phases where he's an absolute nightmare to raise through no fault of his own. Nyx is a happy baby, but has zero concept of his power when it starts to show, leaving one very tired High Lord and High Lady when he shatters a window in his nursery when wiggling his arms excitedly.

He's an intuitive little guy though and very quickly figures out he needs to be careful when Feyre and Rhys try to teach him to get a handle on that power. He learns this the hard way after accidentally nightmisting one of his toys.

Nobody for the life of them can figure out why he adores cranky Auntie Amren so much. Though he's not old enough to explain it, he thinks she's another child to play with. Cassian suggests this and Amren nearly rips his head off.

Nyx is a full-fledged mama's boy. He adores Feyre and is a complete snugglebug with her. He's also very protective of his mama.

That said, he idolizes his dad too and copies everything he does. He follows Rhys around and mimics everything, right down to trying to copy the High Lord's graceful swagger. Feyre, naturally, absolutely melts at the sight of him waddling after his dad with one hand in his pocket looking too cool for school on his tiny little legs.

Nyx is obsessed with Starfall, and his first-ever painting is a finger painting of him with his parents under those stars. Rhys gets misty-eyed when he sees it.

He's besties with Kallias and Viviane's little snow angel. The fact they're the same age is perfect--when the grown-ups are too boring tending to one courtly matter or the other, Nyx and his friend can easily pass the time playing in the snow. Nyx already has met his match in the realm of snowball fighting, and takes a new tactic or two back to absolutely wallop his uncles. Rhys could not be more proud of this fact.

Nyx takes his role as Eldest Cousin very seriously, but there's one cousin in particular who absolutely does not and will not listen to a word he says. Guess whose kid that cousin is.

Nyx takes a little too much after his mother sometimes in that he befriends every semi-civil demon-thing or dark spirit that walks the face of the earth. To Uncle Cassian's absolute horror, Nyx is apparently friends with Bryaxis...and Bryaxis loves this kid.

[lady-of-tearshed]

20 things Eris tells Azriel VS what they mean

@azrisweek day 4: Read between the lines

Pairing: Azris

Warnings: Sexual terms

“It’s raining today...”

I’m thinking we should stay inside and cuddle with the dogs

2. “Shut up.”

Usually, he means it. But when it’s said during… bedroom activities, Eris Vanserra telling him to shut up usually means : “Your voice turns me on so much that I’ll cum right here and now if you keep talking.” 

3. “What are you doing?” (When Azriel is busy doing something. For example, paperwork for Rhysand.)

I’m bored and I need you to give me some attention.

4. “How’s your family doing?”

How’re Nyx and Nesta doing? I couldn’t care less about the other idiots and I’m going to roll my eyes hard if you bring anyone else up. 

5. “You look like shit.”

You look as if you haven’t slept in days, and I’m truly worried about you. However, I don’t want you to take my concern as pity, so instead I’m insulting you. 

6. “The dogs have missed you.”

I’ve missed you.

7. “Leave me alone.”

Please, stay.

8. “Make me.”

You actually don’t have to make me. I’d willingly do anything you ask me without hesitation. I just want to be an asshole for fun, to test limits. ;)

9. “I’m not tired.” (Bonus when he stifles a yawn)

I haven’t slept more than three hours in a row for days. 

10. “I’m starting to get sleepy…” (When they’re both reading on the couch late at night)

Please carry me to bed. 

11. “I sleep just fine without you.”

I want you by my side in my bed every night for the rest of my life. I only sleep well if I’m by your side. That’s because I feel protected when you’re around. 

12. “Let’s take a bath, you stink.” (When Azriel comes back from a mission)

I want to bathe together so I can undress you and see for myself that you’re not hurt.

13. “I love you.”

So much so that I’d let the world burn if you’d ask me to. 

14. “It’s been a long day.”

I want you to serve us some wine and snacks while I tell you all about my shit day. 

15. “Please.” (With a snarl)

If you don’t do it, the next step is me biting you. 

16. “I’ve been thinking…”

I’ve been plotting this for weeks. 

17. “Dance with me.”

Let me be close to you, touch me, and let me touch you. 

18. “Fancy a game of chess?”

I want to beat you at chess to feel in control and to boost my confidence. 

19. “Guess what I’ve learned today.”

I’m about to gossip/yap your ears out for the next few hours.

20. “This color really suits you...”

I’m about to add twenty more outfits in this color to your wardrobe because you look biteable in it. 

Azris taglist: @g00seg1rl

ACOTAR general taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover @paige0103 @princesssunderworld

[inkuinky]

it’s that day again. where they planned a serious, romantic date in once of every while. where Will’s workaholic ass would finally gave up to the love of his boyfriend and leave the infirmary in the hands of his siblings when it’s summer and where they would treat eachother like a serious couple they are in the hands of love.

at this point, Nico often can’t differentiate whether a date or casual hangout. because in these two-long-years-committing-relationship they have, Nico can’t even remember a day where they don’t stick on eachother and spending the time together.

until once, Nico decided to take him out. on a romantic serious one, the real-type rather than hanging out watching star wars (but if Nico’s being honest, anything they do, no matter if the star wars is replayed thousand times on the screen, Nico would always love the time they have.) just to make Will feel loved, to make Will feel that he’s something worth than just a cheap picnic beside the camp lake or small talk on the campfire.

they eventually take turns, knowing Will is the type to give, he often insisted on him taking Nico out instead. he’s not used to being pampered and getting things without anything in return. but he just want his beautiful, charming, amazing boyfriend to feel loved and worth adored. that Nico’s here won’t leave him nor he see Will as an abandonment and he will stay, just for him.

but even after said two years, for some reasons, the love never dies, it grows, more, like a tree with full grown and still growing. His Will gets more beautiful. in any way, in anything, clothes or none, he’s a beauty, the apple of Nico’s eyes.

Nico would hate to admit, but often he found himself dumbfounded from the starstruck. no matter in what condition, Will unfairly is always beautiful. it’s annoying how this man always managed to look stunning in the most unhinged situation.

a year ago, in the tartarus—fucking tartarus—Will managed to look amazing. sure, soggy ambrosia, but he still look beautiful nonetheless. don’t get Nico started on how Will glows as he fight and scream at Nyx. he glows mesmerizingly. he literally made him fall in love and head over heels for the William Andrew Solace in nurse scrubs and flip-flops! he even saw Will with only his shorts and bare chest, sun tattoo rest without guilt whatsoever on his pectoral and honestly? he’s breathtaking. if he in nurse scrubs and tired eyes are still beautiful in Nico’s eyes, how would clothes do to Nico? forget clothes, withou—

okay, okay, it’s getting wild.

Nico has finally arrived in front of Cabin 7, in his usual but nicer outfit from him; black skinny jeans, black chb tee and clean jacket with his stygian iron sword turned into chain accessory. he also wore cologne for better smell, wouldn’t want Will to smell the nervousness out of him as he fidgets on the bronze coin in his pocket. he look to the ground as he finds mythomagic card in his pocket with his other hand and revealing the hades and apollo cards. he keep his posture relaxed with his back from the cabin as he focuses his eye on other cabin.

it’s the edge of spring. a cold breeze waved as flowers and leaves grow. nymphs and satyrs are in good moods. two more weeks until campers start coming and filled the empty cabins.

Nico is pretty pleased with his life so far. a loving boyfriend, a home with a centaur and a drunk god supervisor and a pretty much stable life. this year he stayed with Will again. though he spent the winter in Texas with Will and met the Naomi Solace (let’s not mention his midnight whispers to Naomi about Will as his billy and how grateful Nico for Naomi’s son) and most of the fall annoying nymphs with their date.

“Nico! why don’t you come in instead?” said a sweetly familiar voice from Nico’s back. “I just want to wait for you, you know? you ready yet?” Nico smiled, but wouldn’t turned his head. suddenly dandelions and sunflowers are catching his eyes rather than Will, not that Will’s not interesting, it’s just… complicated.

Will always made him feel new things, new stuff,as if he’s a brand new activator that would made his heart flutter in the directions he didn’t know he could do.

today’s date is simple, actually; going to this bowling diner Will has been yapping about, hits the arcade and do a little dancing together, maybe a little wine tasting if Will want to, a little walk together—if Will’s tired, he can ask Jules-Albert to take a porsche—as they yap together about new facts and life possibilities.

but knowing Will’s giving nature, he would try. he would try with beautiful, ecstatic outfits. Nico often became frustrated with this fact, because with Will’s freckles-ed, tan skin; bushy, dirty blonde hair; those blue eyes Nico can bore and swim forever inside and would never want get out from; those eye-blinding smile with teeth and the sound of his laughter? is like oxygen for Nico. how could Will Solace ever be not beautiful for Nico Di Angelo? never. never will.

“Nico? to the earth?” Will’s soft voice shook Nico out from his shadows. “yes, zuchero?”

I asked you, do I look good?”

“stunning, beautiful, handsome.”

he can feel Will’s annoyed attitude pouting on him. “you don’t even turn around? Nico, you’re being weird.” “no seriously- Will, you’re amazing I-“ “Look at me.” Nico turn back and gods, his mind went blank.

to naked eyes, Will’s the same. the same bushy blonde hair and blue eyes, even the same design of green cargo shorts, only this time he’s wearing white cropped tee — revealing Will’s soft stomach with piercing, of course, Nico’s definitely not looking in that direction, haha! Will’s eyes is up there, not on his upper-down line, Nico — with long sleeves of yellow. this time, instead of flip-flops, Will wore his yellow sunflower-daisy converse—matching with Nico’s black hyacinthus’ . they got it custom embroidered to match eachother via Cabin 19’s favor of embroidery.

“is it bad? it’s bad isn’t it? okay, I’m changing.” Will mumbled with reddening face and eyes on shame. “no- nononononononono— don’t- don’t- gods, you’re- I- I just-“ Nico rushed to hold Will’s hand and clasp them together as he stare into eye contact with Will. “hello, there. “ Will’s smug eyes are there while his pink lips whispered. “beautiful- I- uh, let’s get out now?” Will then burst out a laugh. a loud lough as he let go of the hands and crouched.

“Nico, if you keep having that beat of heart, you’ll get arrhythmia. ” Will’s teary eyes from the laughing actually made Nico’s heart stopped a beat. the voice of laugh itself made Nico’s stomach fluttered in skeletal butterflies. what kind of witchcraft is he doing to Nico?

“okay okay, let’s go shall we?” Will Solace smirks at him as he straighten his posture and take a hold of Nico’s right hand with his left hand. the evening sunlight shines to Will, golden hour giving majestic and divine aesthetic. his freckles are like constellations Nico wouldn’t mind counting for hours, days, years. and his ocean blue eyes isn’t helping either knowing it is crystal clear underneath the light, showing the beautiful iris and trap Nico inside.

sure, Nico haven’t gotten that much of growth spurt which makes Will Solace is still 4 cm taller than him, but it makes everything more painful for Nico because he knew he couldn’t get his eyes away. not from Will he can’t, he’s just a man. a human. but when it comes to Will, it’s like worshipping. as if there’s some kind of divine intervention makes Nico couldn’t get over his man’s beauty and Nico Di Angelo, the ghost king, the Prince of the Underworld has never want to kneel before anybody willingly except for Will Solace.

suddenly, he felt a soft lips upon his. tasted like saccharine and addictingly sweet to Nico’s taste. he craves more. he wants to feel that softness and save it all for himself. he wants the world to know how in love Will can make him. as a weak man (only to Will), Nico can only return the kiss, which makes Nico’s inner intestines ruined and mushed like soup. he swear his heart beating like crazy as ifhe just run Olympic running track after they let go of the kiss.

“you can’t stop staring, so I had to bring you down back to earth” Will’s pretty face now only a breath away as his nose brushed his. “come on, let’s shadow travel” said Nico nervously

can’t guarantee if he won’t die young with these arrhythmia whenever he’s around Will. god forbid.

—————————

HC credit; @coirinthyurilo

(hi hello yeah here you go ily)

[parkerslatte]

Finding Home || Part Two

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: none

Summary: After spending the whole night talking with Y/N, Azriel is summoned to Rhys’s office where he has a very particular set of mission for him.

Finding Home Masterlist

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The morning after Azriel left Y/N’s apartment, he left with a wide smile on his face. It felt nice to have a conversation with someone that wasn’t constantly surrounded by their mate or have a child run up to them halfway through the conversation and completely take their attention away. For the first time in a while, Azriel was fully relaxed while having a conversation. Even as he made his way to Rhys’s office, he still held that relaxation within his body. Even if he had fallen asleep on her sofa with his wings tucked tightly to his body, the shadowsinger had never slept so soundly. The only thing that awoke him was the tap of Rhys against his mental shields demanding his attention. 

Azriel knocked on the door to Rhys’s office and faintly heard him calling him in. Azriel stepped inside and found Rhys sitting at his desk looking exhausted. Usually Rhys took pride in his appearance but as he sat behind his desk still in his satin pyjamas, Azriel couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh. 

“Long night?” Aziel commented, sitting in the chair opposite. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Rhys answered. 

Normally Azriel would ask him what kept him up all night but this time he didn’t, only knowing that it would be one of two answers. Feyre or Nyx. Deciding not to ask, Azriel instead asked a different question. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

Why did you pull me away from the one place I could truly be relaxed? That was the question Azriel really wanted to ask.

“Ah, that,” Rhys said. “Well we were all worried about you last night.”

“Oh,” Azriel said, deflating a little in his chair. 

“You were there one moment and when Elain turned around to ask if you wanted to hold Hycinth again, you were gone,” Rhys said. 

The suspicions Azriel had about no one noticing he left were confirmed. Azriel could always escape somewhere undetected but late night he made sure that his footsteps were heard. He made sure he opened the front door a little louder than normal. And he made sure to close it with more force than necessary. If anyone was paying any attention they would have easily heard that he had left. Clearly no one was paying any attention to him at all. 

“I just wanted to go home,” Azriel answered. “Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.”

“Weren’t you enjoying yourself?” Rhys countered.

There was a brief moment of hesitation from Azriel before he answered. “I was, I was just tired. I hadn’t had much sleep the night before.” It was a bad lie and Azriel knew it. Rhys could immediately see through the lie too, but to save Azriel from explaining himself further, Rhys didn’t question him on it. 

“Was that all you needed?” Azriel asked. 

“No,” Rhys said and threw a file across the desk to Azriel.

“What is this? Another mission,” Azriel asked, picking it up.

“Of sorts,” Rhys said.

Azriel opened the file and stared at it, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “‘Have a beach day?’, ‘Feed the ducks?’, ‘Go to the theatre?’. What is this, Rhys?” 

“These are personal missions for you,” Rhys answered. “Myself, as well as Cassian and the others have all noticed how absent you have been recently–”

“I have been on missions–”

“Not physically,” Rhys said. “Mentally. You barely talk to anyone unless you are spoken to. You don’t tease Cassian for a stupid comment he makes. You don’t even play with Nyx as much as you used to. Last night he asked why you don’t take him to the park anymore.”

“I–” Azriel cut himself off because he didn’t have an answer. Everything Rhys said was true.

“These missions are for you to try and enjoy yourself,” Rhys explained. “Do them in whatever order you like, but in three months' time, if I don’t see all of them ticked off, I won’t be very happy, Azriel.”

Azriel looked down at the list. There were thirty things on it ranging from small things like cooking a meal for himself to large things like jumping from the tallest mountain in The Night Court and seeing how long it takes for him to open his wings to fly.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Rhys, I don’t need to do these things. I am perfectly fine.” Another lie. Rhys once again didn’t mention it. 

“Three months, Azriel,” Rhys said and stood from his chair. “Now, I have my mate waiting for me upstairs. We have about twenty minutes before Nyx wakes up.”

Azriel didn’t respond with a teasing remark like he usually does. Of course Rhys can’t even stay for a moment longer to just talk to Azriel. If he had only decided to stay for a few moments longer, Azriel might have opened up to him. All Azriel did was stare at the file in front of him, failing to notice Rhys’s lingering gaze on him before we swiftly left his office. 

Three months to do thirty tasks and most of them were downright stupid. Though Azriel had to admit that some of them sounded appealing, he guessed that those would have been either Feyre, Nesta or Elain’s idea. Azriel would prefer if Rhys sent him on a mission, preferably a long one. Then he maybe wouldn’t need to spend every waking moment around happy and in love couples. 

With a sigh, Azriel stood to his feet and allowed his shadows to encase him, taking him somewhere else. 

***

Y/N stepped out of her apartment and into the cool air, her thick scarf wrapped around her neck. She was tired and had a dull ache in her neck from falling asleep on her sofa at an awkward angle. Though she wouldn’t have changed one moment from her night. Y/N never would have thought that being in the company of the shadowsinger would be pleasant but it had to be one of her favourite Solstice’s. No large spectacle, just two friends– if that is what Y/N could call their relationship– sitting together and talking. 

The air was cold and Y/N wrapped her coat tighter around her body. It was a large effort from Y/N to leave her apartment, the only driving force was her needing milk and she regretted not picking it up the previous night when she bumped into Azriel. 

She wondered how he was doing. When he woke that morning he seemed deflated and in a rush to leave. Of course he reassured her that it was nothing to do with her. In fact, he told her that the night they had spent just sitting and talking was the best night he had had in a while. When he rushed out that morning, Y/N wanted to call out to him to ask if he wanted to get a coffee or something similar. But as she went to speak the words died on her tongue, it was too much like asking him on a date. 

As Y/N stepped away from the door of her apartment, she collided with a firm chest and a familiar scent surrounded her. Strong arms shot out to keep her upright before being retracted away quickly as if touching her had burnt. 

“Y/N,” Azriel’s smooth voice chimed through the air around her. He still wore the same clothes he had left in only hours before. This time he held a file in his hand that she knew he didn’t have when he left her apartment. 

“I’m sorry for startling you,” he apologised. “I didn’t even mean to come back here.”

Y/N’s shoulders slumped the smallest amount at Azriel’s revelation. He hadn’t wanted to come back to her. Maybe not asking him for coffee was a good idea.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said, trying not to let the disappointment lace her tone. “Did you leave anything inside? I can get it for you.”

“No, no,” Azriel said. “And I didn’t mean that I didn’t want to come back here. I did want to believe me. I just didn’t think I would come back here unconsciously.” There was a slight blush adorning Azriel’s cheeks that made Y/N laugh. His head shot up at the sound. 

“What?” He asked, a small smile spreading across his face.

“It’s cute when you are flustered,” Y/N said, which only caused the blush on his cheeks to deepen. “So, what’s up with the file? It looks…official.”

Azriel scoffed quietly. “It’s far from that.”

Azriel thrust the file forward and Y/N took it hesitantly. “Should I even be reading this? I’m not exactly part of this court’s politics.”

“Just read it,” Azriel said, his voice soft. 

Y/N opened the file and she immediately started to chuckle. “‘Feed a duck’?”

Azriel groaned. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s funny,” Y/N replied and continued to look down the list. “What exactly is this for?”

“Rhys and the others thought it would be a good idea for me to enjoy myself because they have noticed I have distanced myself lately,” Azriel explained. 

Y/N raised her gaze from the paper in front of her to Azriel’s. His eyes bore into hers and she could feel the frustration residing in them. 

“I don’t see how any of this is going to help,” Azriel said. “All of these tasks are pointless.”

“Some of them seem fun,” Y/N tried to reason. 

“On my own?” Azriel replied. “The whole reason why I’ve been feeling like this is because I feel alone. It is because I have no one to do anything with. Now they have set me tasks that make sure I am on my own.”

“I can do them with you,” Y/N answered quickly, not thinking about Azriel’s possible responses. 

A look of surprise briefly flashed across Azriel’s face before it returned to his neutral one. His eyes jumped from Y/N’s to the file in her hands. “You don’t need to do them with me. It’s my mission and I won’t drag you along with me.”

Y/N smiled. “I wouldn’t class feeding the ducks as a mission, Azriel. And most of these seem fun. ‘Have a beach day’? I’ve never been to a beach. Oh, and go to the theatre! I love the theatre! These are fun, Azriel!”

Azriel rolled his eyes, though Y/N could see him trying to fight away a smile. “Would you really do them with me? You only met me last night.”

Y/N shrugged. “Well they seem fun and this is the perfect way for us to get to know one another.”

Azriel looked at the file in her hands and he allowed the smile he had been fighting away to  break out on his face. Y/N felt her insides melt at the sight. His smile lit up his whole face. Any feeling that had been present on his face before instantly vanished and was replaced by undeniable happiness.

“Thank you for doing this with me, Y/N,” Azriel said sincerely. “So where should we start?”

Y/N pointed to number seven on the list. “Number seven, get some coffee.”

Azriel smiled before taking the file away from Y/N and folded it away, he offered his arm to Y/N and she took it. It felt natural. 

“Lead the way, shadowsinger,” Y/N replied and the two were off down the street. The milk Y/N originally set off to purchase was completely abandoned.

Taglist:

@justdreamstars @naturakaashi @thesunloveschips @hijabi-desi-bookworm

- strike through could not be tagged -

[aceistheplace86]

Ephemeral

///Good job @nyx-stars and anyone else who cracked the code!

You were waiting patiently at the Greasy Diner, wearing your favorite formal outfit. You had originally come into the diner in awe of the setup, there were fairy lights hung on the ceiling, and a table had a tablecloth with a single red rose and a candle.

You knew Ford had gotten Lazy Susan to keep open the diner for your guy's special date night. But now, as you sit and wait alone, the awe you once felt had faded. Ford was almost an hour late.

“Hiya Hun,” Susan said coming up sadly “I-I have to close up soon”

You didn’t make eye contact with her; you couldn’t bear to see the pitiful look she was surely giving you. “That’s Okay Susan” You blew out the candle and handed her the rose “Thank you for letting me stay.”

She smiled sadly and took the rose, handing you a container “Pie. For you”

You started your drive back to the Shack; you were so angry and confused. Ford knew how important tonight was, he had to have known because it was important to him too. Wasn’t it?

You got to the Shack, walked in, and slammed the door shut, which startled Stan who had gotten himself comfortable in his armchair.

“What are you doing back?” he asked confused then stopped “Wait, I never saw Sixer leave.”

“That’s because he never showed up” you scoffed.

“What?!” He stood up “You know how long it took me to set that stuff up? And what it took to convince Lazy Susan to stay open late” He paused “It didn’t take much convincin’ but still!”

“He didn’t even decorate it?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, causing Stan’s face to fall.

“It was his idea y’know. I was just the one who set it up. He said he wanted to get ready” He explained, “Do you want me to go yell at him or somethin’?”

You shook your head “I got this.” You made your way to the lab and were soon met with Ford, who was hunched over a desk, mumbling to himself.

“Ford.” The sound of your voice seemed to startle him because he whirled around.

“Oh, Hello my darling!” he said cheerily “What are you doing down here?”

“You missed our dinner.” You ignored the flutter in your chest at that nickname.

“I probably didn’t miss much; Stan was talking about ordering pizza” He chuckled turning back to his work

“Our dinner. Ford.” You repeat.

He paused and turned to look at you “Our dinner to celebrate…” He trails off “Oh my love, I am sorry. I was just about to get ready when I realized something. Do you remember my Multiverse Echo Theory? Every event that occurs in Gravity Falls creates a ripple in the fabric of reality, leading to the formation of alternate dimensions.” He recalls excitedly “I believe that if I can find a way to tune into these echoes, I could access knowledge or maybe even resources from other dimensions that could help uncover the mysteries of this town! I have been working on a device that can track and measure these dimensional fluctuations” He paused and glanced back at his notes “However, one could argue about the ethical implications of meddling with the multiverse”

Just like that, you had lost him again to his work. He was no longer paying attention to you. “Ford you missed our dinner” You repeated.

“Yes, I apologize for that dear,” he says not looking at you, but writing down in his journal. “We could reschedule for tomorrow.”

“That is not the point Stanford!” You were tired, having little to no fight left in you anymore. Not for another conversation where you had to beg him to give you even the tiniest bit of attention even for a moment. The only reason you hadn’t given up was because there had been times when it felt like Ford was improving, that you didn’t have to fight for his attention.

He taught you some of his favorite meals to cook. He drove an hour out of town to take you to a bookstore. He wrote you poems. He was there when you woke up in the morning. That was probably your favorite part. Rolling over to be met with his warm body instead of the cold, empty side of the bed. It hurt to know he would rather go straight to the lab in the morning, that was if he had even come to your shared room in the first place.

“I don’t understand,” He says “You want a dinner, I will make plans for us to have dinner tomorrow. But for now, would you like to help me?” he waved over to his notes “Stanley made Dipper go to bed”

“You aren’t listening to me, Stanford!” You cried out “There are other things that can give your life meaning. More important things than… than this!” You said gesturing to the lab.

“What?” Ford replied shortly “Like you?”

You stood frozen. Is that really what he thought about your relationship? About you? “I think you should apologize”

“And I think you should leave” His back was towards you.

“Fine” You whispered, “I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore Ford.”

“Like it’s so difficult for you?” He muttered.

“Yes! It breaks my heart to see you this way! You spent your childhood chasing after a place where you could fit in, somewhere where you would find love. You completely ignored your brother who was there for you” You started “And now you are starting to completely ignore me, I thought you would change once we got you back with the portal. I thought you would be different” Before Ford had gotten sucked into the portal, your relationship was a bit rocky, but you chalked it up to the fight he had with his brother, but he only continued to ice you out. It was good for the first few months when he came back, but now he started to isolate himself again.

You had dedicated your life to helping Ford feel like he belonged, and you stuck by Stanley as he tried to bring back his brother. “I gave up everything for you Stanford!”

“I never asked you to”

“You did when you said you loved me”

He stared at you for a long while before he turned away and went back to his desk.

You felt defeated. You looked down at your hand and slipped off the ring. “Goodbye Stanford” You set the ring on top of his journal and walked out. You didn’t even bother packing a bag, you just got in your car and drove off.

Pt 2. Here

[hypnos333]

The Poet

Apollo x Goddess reader

Synopsis: You were always the quiet type until Artemis came to you with a poem from Apollo

Your a goddess of the moon and sleep, your also the child of Erebus and Nyx meaning your well protected as your mom was feared even by Zeus.

You never talked to the twins before your closes friends were just Athena and Hermès.

You were kept to yourself, you never got used to the light all you were used to was darkness because of your parents. Every once in awhile you would hear a beautiful melody in the woods. You knew while this would be but you were always curious about the twins.

You would sneak in the bushes a watch as Apollo play music and then you would sneak back out to not seem like a stalker. You would always wear your signature dress a sky blue satin evening dress custom made with a sun and moon charm in the middle of the off shoulder.

The dress was crafted by Aphrodite herself so you know the dress is beautiful its self.

“Brother I don’t understand why you can’t give her this poem” Artemis asked irritated that she was pulled from her hunt for this. Apollo wasn’t paying attention to busy admiring you. With you dark sparkling hair and you seemed to always be sleepy but never fully sleep til night.

“Because you’re my sister and it’ll be obvious it’s from me” He said back making her sigh in frustration.

“But this seems like a love goddess thing…” Artemis mumble.

“Just go Artemis, she’s alone now” Apollo ordered making Artemis groaned before stomping towards you with the hand written poem.

“Hey ___, wait up” Artemis yelled out rushing to you making you turn her way. With a tired smile you gave her making her give back a toothy smile.

“What’s up Artemis?” You asked rubbing your eyes tiredly making her look at you nervously.

“Uhm… Well my brother wanted me to give this to you, and to read the poem once I leave so bye” She said putting Poem in you hand before rushing off before you can even say goodbye to her.

You opened the letter and read each word.

If you were mine

If kisses were start I’d gather the night sky to drape over your shoulder each star whispering how much you are loved

if smiles were water I’d fill oceans for you every wave echoing a laugh a joy you bring into my world

If memories were moments i’d offered you lifetimes each second a testament to the depth of our bond woven through time and space

If kindness was a person it would wear your face each act, a mirror of the love you give unconditionally endlessly like you give me

-Apollo

You held the letter tight, you loved it no you adored the words of this poem.

You rushed to go find Apollo to give this relationship a try and to confess your falling for him. You saw him talking to Aphrodite and Eros so you jumped on his back getting his attention as instincts took over so he held your thighs to keep you up.

“Of course i’ll be yours” you mumbled in his neck making Apollo laugh before settling you down before wrapping his arms around you. As he leaned in kissing your lips softly.

“You made me the happiest god in Olympus” he said before kissing your lips again.

[leilousblog]

The language of Flowers - an Elriel fanfic 💐

🗡️Word count : 2k7

🥀 Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated ( especially feedback! )

Note : I’m not sure I completely got the timelines right. I tried to make it coherent so let me know if it’s not the case !

───✧❅✦❅✧───

The garden behind the River House had just begun to bloom with all sorts of spring flowers with the new season. Morning sun slipped through the climbing ivy and dew-speckled roses, casting warm light over pale blossoms and rich, budding herbs. The breeze carried a soft hum, the distant murmur of the Sidra, and the muffled giggles of a child.

Nyx toddled along the winding stone path, one chubby fist curled tightly around a daisy Elain had shown him just moments before. “Gentle fingers” she reminded him softly, crouching at his side. “Flowers don’t like being squished.” Nyx turned his big violet eyes up at her, blinking solemnly. “Sshquished,” he repeated, chewing on the word like it was a new kind of magic. Elain laughed at that, a sound as easy and bright as the morning. “Yes, that’s right.” She sank onto the grass beside him, letting her skirts pool around her knees. Her fingers brushed a small patch of thyme, its tiny leaves still damp with dew. “Now, this one’s thyme. It’s a very nice plant, helps people when they’re sick. You can put it in teas.” Nyx squatted beside her and stared at the plant with the utmost concentration. His little nose wrinkled as he sniffed, then he promptly plopped down on his bottom and babbled something entirely incomprehensible, waving his daisy like a conductor’s baton. “Oh, I see,” Elain said with an exaggerated nod. “You’re absolutely right. It does have quite the smell.” Her voice turned playful, almost sing-song. Nyx lit up at her response, laughing in hiccupping bursts before crawling to the next plant. His small wings fluttered with each lurching step. Elain watched them, those delicate wings, so much like his father’s. A memory flickered, unbidden. Feyre, pale and motionless, Rhys’ screams echoing through the River House during Nyx’s birth. She pushed it away. With a soft shake of her head, Elain followed after the child, her tone light again. She named each plant as they passed. Chamomile for calm. Rosemary for memory. Peonies for luck in love. She kept her explanations short and simple, sometimes silly, just to coax another giggle from him.

On a shaded bench near the garden’s edge, Azriel sat, a report lying untouched in his lap. He hadn’t turned a page. Elain didn’t glance in his direction, not once. But she felt him. She always did. Though most would miss the quiet stealth of him, she always knew when he was near, a quiet awareness prickling down her spine. The faint scent of cedar and smoke threading its way through the sweetness of rose and fresh earth.

But she said nothing.

Not to him.

Not after Solstice. After everything that had gone unsaid, after the distance he’d placed between them in the days that followed. He hadn’t looked at her the same way since. Hadn’t touched her hand beneath the table, or leaned in when she laughed. And she’d grown tired of wondering what he felt, if anything at all.

So she turned all her warmth toward Nyx instead. “The daffodils mean new beginnings,” she told the toddler softly, brushing golden petals with her fingertips. “And rosemary? That’s for remembrance. You like that one, don’t you?”

He hadn’t meant to stay long. He’d wandered out here for the quiet, as he always did for the past two years or so, to finish reviewing a scouting mission plan Rhys had handed him that morning. But the second he saw Elain kneeling in the grass, her hair braided loosely down her back, golden strands catching the sun like threads of light, he decided to test his luck and sat at a nearby table. Far enough to not disturb them, yet close enough to soak in the quiet joy radiating from them.

Now, he sat still, his shadows tucked close, careful not to draw attention. Nyx hadn’t noticed him. He was sure Elain did, although she let nothing transpire.

He let the pages sit unread and watched instead. Watched as she picked up a blue hyacinth and told Nyx, “This one means constancy, do you know what that means?” Nyx blinked, mouth busy with a blade of grass. She didn’t wait for his response before saying tenderly “It means staying. Staying with someone through everything.”

Azriel froze, and so did his shadow, before they furiously swarmed him, begging him to move - to go to her.

But Elain moved on, brushing her hand over a clump of wild violets. “These are for loyalty. You can give them when you want someone to know your heart’s true.” Nyx grabbed a handful and offered them to her with an impish grin, dirt streaked up his arm. She gasped in mock offense. “Lord Nyx, you thief!” she exclaimed, and collapsed in giggles when he toddled away on unsteady legs, shrieking with laughter.

From the bench, Azriel watched her laugh, the sound soft and unguarded. He let it settle into him like warmth.

Then she crouched behind Nyx and held him gently. She pointed at the white carnation and quietly said “This one means remembrance. You give them to honor someone. And this -” she pointed to a small, honey-yellow bloom “ -is tansy. It means hope.”

Hope.

Azriel closed his eyes for a brief moment, not daring to linger. There was something dangerously captivating about the way she smiled in the sunlight, barefoot and soft-spoken, whispering secrets to a toddler about flowers. It was a warmth he couldn’t afford to dwell on, not now. He rose silently and slipped toward the house. Elain looked up just as he disappeared through the archway. Her lips parted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze.

But then Nyx tried to eat a handful of dirt, and she sighed, turning back to him.

───✧❅✦❅✧───

The House of Wind’s library was quiet at this hour, deep into afternoon, when the sun cast long, golden spears across the marble floors. The silence wasn’t empty, though. It hummed. With age, with knowledge, with the quiet reverence of a thousand voices locked in ink. Azriel had been in countless libraries across the centuries. Some smelled of rot and mildew, others of metals and magic. This one smelled of old paper, polished stone, and candlewax. And here, he wasn’t the spymaster of the Night Court. No, he was just a male wandering alone between shelves, his boots silent against the floor.

He hadn’t planned to come. Not really. But the way Elain had laughed while crouching beside Nyx in her garden, brushing his tiny fingers across flower petals and telling him what each of them meant… it had set him in motion. He was in front of the library before he had time to think it twice.

In all his glorious 540 years of life, Azriel never bothered learn the language of flowers. It never interested him. Not until know. He tried to remember her exact words. That marigolds meant warmth and creativity. Daises meant innocence. Blue hyacinth meant everything he wanted to give her but couldn’t, could never. He’d watched the way she said it. Her voice had taken on a certain weight. Not directed at Nyx, not really. He foolishly hoped she was speaking to him, indirectly. And he didn’t know how to answer.

So now, here he was. Moving through the library, past histories and spellcraft, war accounts and court diplomacy. He realized he did not know where to look exactly. A voice, quiet and knowing came up behind him. “Looking for something?”. He turned. It was one of the priestesses. A soft-spoken, dark-eyed female with gentle features and a mouth that hinted at amusement. Azriel cleared his throat. “Do you have anything on… the symbolic meaning of flowers?”

There was a pause. Not of confusion, but interest. The priestess tilted her head, her hair falling over one shoulder. Then, silently, she beckoned him forward, leading him through a winding path of shelves until they reached a tucked-away section that smelled faintly of jasmine. She gestured to a narrow shelf lined with modest books, most of them bound in faded green or cream covers. “The Language of Flora. Used often in the Spring Court, but there are several volumes adapted here. That one’s most complete,” she added, pointing to a thick, hand-bound book with pressed flowers inlaid on the cover. Azriel picked it up carefully. The title was etched in looping script: Petals and Promises - The Hidden Meaning Behind Bloom and Bud. “Thank you,” he said quietly. The priestess only smiled, eyes twinkling, before leaving him to it.

He didn’t sit in the main study area. Instead, he found a private reading alcove near the window, tucked behind an arch of flowering ivy the House must have conjured just for him. Shadows shifted at his shoulders, but remained quiet. Even they understood. He opened the book. Pages fluttered open to beautifully illustrated diagrams, notes on seasonal blooms, and entire sections on pairing flowers together to create messages without words. Azriel reached into his coat, pulling out a small leather-bound notebook and a slender pen. His hands moved before his mind had caught up, listing blooms and their meanings.

Pink peonies - gentle affection, bashful love.

Bellflowers - gratitude, constancy.

Wild violets - loyalty, sincerity.

Gardenias - secret love, admiration.

Forget-me-nots - true love, remembrance.

Night-blooming jasmine - unspoken love. In some traditions, including Illyrian ones, these blooms were associated with lasting bonds.

He underlined that last one. Twice.

Time passed unnoticed. Candles burned lower. Shadows thickened in the corners of the alcove. He didn’t stop writing until he had two pages filled with combinations. Not just meanings, but intentions. By the time he closed the book, his fingers had stained faintly with ink and pollen from the pressed flowers embedded within the pages. He stared down at the final note he had written, the last combination, which had no title. He just wrote “for her” on top of it. Azriel folded the paper and tucked it into his coat. He didn’t need it, not truly. He’d memorized each flower, each meaning. But having it close, something tangible, felt necessary. It was a promise to himself to go along with it, to act on it.

───✧❅✦❅✧───

The late-afternoon light spilled golden across Elain’s bedroom, draping itself lazily over the embroidered coverlet. The scent of honeysuckle drifted through the open windows, mingling with old paper and the lingering trace of rose oil from her post-gardening bath. Cerridwen lay draped over the chaise, one leg swinging idly, her hair trailing over the edge as she flipped a page with an audible snap. “So you’re saying you liked it.” Elain, seated on the cushioned window bench, looked up from her tea with a frown that was far too slow to be convincing.

“I said no such thing.”

“You did,” Nuala said from where she sat cross-legged on the rug, her head tilted thoughtfully. She had one of Elain’s bookmarks tucked behind her ear. “you said Nesta gave it to you and called it ‘plot with spice.’ You devoured it in one sitting.”

“I was curious,” Elain muttered into her cup. “I didn’t expect… dragons.”

Cerridwen raised a brow. “That’s what shocked you? Not the part where the shadow-wielding wingleader pins her to a wall and nearly undoes her entire sense of morality in a few pages?”

Elain’s ears went beetroot red.

“It’s not the point of the story” she said defensively, before she could stop herself. There was a pause. Then Nuala gasped with delight. “You are blushing.”

“I am not!”

Cerridwen was grinning now, eyes sharp with mischief. “He’s tall. Brooding. Has that whole ‘I could kill you, but instead I’ll protect you with terrifying devotion’ energy.”

“Also,” Nuala added, voice innocent, “he can wrap her in shadows and sneak her across entire battlefields without anyone noticing.” Elain threw a pillow to her head. “You’re both insufferable.” The pillow missed, hitting the side of the chaise with a dull thud, but Cerridwen only laughed and let her head hang upside-down over the edge. “I’m just saying. If a certain someone you know also had a thing for shadows and quiet glances and brooding… you’d have a type.” Elain pointedly did not respond. Because they weren’t wrong. And that was the worst part. The book still sat on her nightstand, its spine worn and a dried sprig of lavender marking the page she’d reread more than once. The part where he confessed what no one else had dared say aloud, and how he’d meant it not as a weapon but a gift.

Then - three soft knocks. Barely audible.

The twins stilled. Elain rose slowly, smoothing her skirts without quite thinking, and crossed the room to the door. No one waited on the other side. Only a small bouquet sat on the hallway floor, bound in soft cream ribbon. And tucked beneath it, a folded piece of parchment—no seal, no signature. Elain glanced left and right, but the corridor was empty. Her heart tapped a little too quickly against her ribs. She knelt. The parchment unfurled with a faint whisper. His handwriting - angled, precise, unmistakable.

It wasn’t a letter. Just names.

White Tulip — Apology

Night-blooming jasmine - unspoken love

Blue Hyacinth — Constancy

Forget-Me-Not — Remembrance

Gardenias - secret love, admiration.

Her breath caught at that last one.

Brining the bouquet close to her face, she smelled the nice and comforting smell of flowers. And lingering, that subtle, unmistakable blend. Cedar. Pine. The faintest trace of smoke and leather. Her fingers tightened slightly on the paper. Then she stepped back inside, shut the door quietly behind her, and held it close to her chest as if the blooms might vanish if she loosened her grip. Nuala and Cerridwen just looked at each other, a knowing smile on their lips, before one said “ Yeah, you definitely have a type”.

_________

I love the idea of Elain and Nyx having a cute family relationship. I really hope SJM explore it more in Elain’s book.

Let me know what you think of this !

[areyoudreaminof]

Biscuits

Nyx didn’t have much of an idea of just how long he had been laying there. He wasn’t aware of anything. Not his limbs, or his wings. Not of the bed beneath him, or his room at the House of the Wind that he had escaped to. He certainly didn’t register his feelings. Nyx just lay there numbly, staring at the blank wall before him. The sun had begun to set and the last vestiges of light crawled back behind the heavy curtains that he had drawn shut. Perhaps he had slept, he couldn’t be too sure. He was so tired. The moods crept on him slowly the past several weeks. He was angry at first, lashing out at everyone about silly things, getting into stupid arguments with his father. Then the anger twisted into anxiety and sadness, suddenly. Panic balled itself up into sobs in his chest that threatened to release at any time, which they did when he was alone in his room. 

Tired of his mother asking him constantly what was wrong, Nyx found the sadness gone one day, like a soap bubble popping. Instead, a buzzing numbness had settled into his head and chest. Letters from his Day Court cousins sat unopened on his desk, he couldn’t seem to stomach their happiness and he had stopped writing all together.  He had slogged through the past several days in a blur, but today his father confronted him about his countenance. Nyx sat and stared blankly at the wall as his father lectured him. When it was over, he got up and flew to the House without a word. The afternoon sun was still high, and he dragged his body towards his room at the back of the house. If anyone knew he was there, they hadn’t disturbed him. 

The trim moulding along the ceiling didn’t move as Nyx stared at it. Somewhere, very far away, the door behind him creaked. Nyx squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to sleep so whoever it was would leave him alone. 

Something soft landed on the bed, while the smell of chocolate and the sounds of soft breathing crept towards him. The bedside lamp flicked on. Bracing himself, Nyx cracked one eye open. Ori, his four year old cousin, stood in front of him with a soggy chocolate-chip scone in her hand and a concerned look on her face. Her cat, Pudding crept down from his shoulder, his green eyes wide. 

“How did you know I was here?” Nyx mumbled. 

“House told me,” Ori climbed her way up onto the bed with one hand, crumbs scattering all over the duvet as she sat in front of him. “What’s wrong, Nyxie?” her voice was hushed. 

“Dunno, just sad I guess. House talks?” 

Ori nodded, “House said you went in your room. I got you somefing to eat ‘cause you missed dinner.” she held out the scone, misshapen and melted in her stubby fingers.

 Nyx wasn’t hungry, he hadn’t eaten much in days, but he ate the scone anyway. It made Ori happy. He reached over her, gulping down the water that the House had now provided. 

"Does anyone else know I'm here," Nyx asked.

"Mama knows, but Papa doesn't yet. Mama will tell him in a little bit. Why are you sad?” Ori asked, her owlish blue eyes were soft and riddled with concern he didn’t deserve, “Are you in trouble?” 

Nyx shook his head as he sunk lower into himself, curling his wings behind him and drawing up his knees. “I’m not sure,” he repeated, “it just came one day and hasn’t really gone away.” 

“Mama calls them down days, she says they come and you gotta be ready,” Ori nodded sagely, “lots of sleep and treats. And a baff, to get the sadness off." She checked off an invisible list, like a little winged librarian. 

Nyx gave a half hearted laugh which turned into a sputter of surprise as Pudding began to work and knead his paws into Nyx’s stomach. “What are you doing?” he mumbled, scratching the fluffy cat under his chin. 

“Makin’ biscuits!” Ori giggled, “he’s trying to get comfy. Scoot over, I wanna get comfy too.” 

Nyx moved as Ori wiggled her way next to him, grabbing his hand tight. “I’m sorry you’re sad, I hope you feel happy soon.” 

“Me too,” Nyx swallowed a lump of tears back into his throat, but they escaped out of his eyes anyway. He began to sob softly, and Ori reached out her hands and roughly wiped away the tears on his cheek and hugged him, while Pudding curled up between them and purred.  The vibrations and hug began to calm him.

“Love you Nyxie,” she whispered, as she grabbed his hand tightly. “It will be a happy day soon.” 

“Love you too, Ori.” and sleep took them both into its embrace.