#is p much just to be unhelpful

[palms-upturned]

.

[theeveninghour]

All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby! 

WC: 16.1k  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things. 

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it. 

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo. 

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour. 

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous. 

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return. 

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into. 

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed. 

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal. 

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee. 

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit.  But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.” 

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone. 

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure. 

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else. 

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.” 

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove. 

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully. 

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire. 

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.” 

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone. 

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked.. 

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it. 

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift. 

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief. 

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes. 

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance. 

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment. 

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed. 

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon. 

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate. 

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room. 

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees. 

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.  

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction. 

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension. 

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel. 

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again. 

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.”  He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on. 

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind. 

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind. 

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.” 

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way. 

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.” 

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you. 

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment. 

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up. 

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive. 

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily. 

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features. 

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed. 

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness. 

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight. 

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple. 

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up. 

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here. 

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed. 

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose. 

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred. 

Shit. 

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky. 

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed. 

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead. 

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting. 

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit. 

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared. 

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand? 

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles. 

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt. 

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head. 

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently. 

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming. 

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound. 

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago. 

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate. 

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you. 

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode. 

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian. 

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded. 

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try. 

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you. 

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives. 

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens. 

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook. 

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him. 

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!” 

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered. 

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.” 

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back. 

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home. 

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body. 

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you. 

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.” 

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically. 

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now. 

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.” 

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained. 

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently. 

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own. 

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.” 

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life. 

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male. 

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time. 

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.” 

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit.  You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly. 

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action. 

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee. 

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly. 

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off. 

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.” 

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading. 

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin. 

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth. 

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven. 

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier. 

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.” 

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed. 

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.” 

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile. 

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested. 

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you. 

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love. 

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.” 

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core. 

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh. 

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations. 

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh. 

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket. 

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself. 

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back. 

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch. 

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off. 

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up. 

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed. 

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest. 

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked. 

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder. 

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there. 

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt. 

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest. 

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours. 

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf. 

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm. 

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard. 

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.” 

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked. 

[sureallavnder]

stupid parties - Theodore Nott

p : gentle!theodore nott x anxious!fem!reader

s : slytherin always throw the noisiest, stupidest parties and even though you were sorted into said house you cant normally handle them as things get intense

w : fluff, shaking, google translated italian, theo being a softie, not proofread

a/n : just a softie theo moment don’t ask me how i got this out but not my 200 follower fic

prompt : person b holding person a’s hand while shaking

You were dreading tonight.

As per usual for the slytherin quidditch team they decided to throw a massive party to celebrate their 5th win of the season.

Something you always struggled with was crowds and noise and lucky for you, you got sorted into the house who throws the loudest, craziest, most unhelpful (in your words) parties.

Theo knew this and always made sure to keep you calm and safe even when he sometimes wished he was partying as it was one of his favourite hobbies.

You and Theo had been dating since he asked you to the Yule Ball in 4th year. But as most, you had crushes on each other since 3rd, and maybe just maybe there was some kind of connection from when you first met. Although you didn’t get close until Christmas break of your 2nd year when you both stayed behind at Hogwarts.

Your family had decided it was best for you to stay in school and focus on furthering your education a little bit, but you always wondered if it was because they liked not having you around.

As for Theo, he never really liked going home. He’d lost his mum when he was young and his dad wasn’t the best of people, a death eater. So it was typical of him to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays.

Theodore Nott. You’re boyfriend of 2 years. He would always spend the party cuddling you and cradling you on his bed, he had absolutely no alternate intentions. He loved looking after you. This time was no different.

It was about 10 minutes before people would normally start to pile into the slytherin common room and just on time Theo came into your dorm room, scooped you up, and carried you to his bed, setting you down. He went and picked out one of his baggiest hoodies and helped you put it on. Guiding your arms through and pulling it over your head making sure you didn’t get stuck. He swooped you into a massive cuddle singing softly into your ear. Arms wrapped tightly around you.

About 20 minutes had passed and you could tell this time felt different. The noise seemed so much more intense and it scared you. That’s when the shaking started. It wasn’t intense, but just a little. It was noticeable to you and Theo.

Theo immediately sat up and turned you so you were facing each other. He held your soft face in his hands. He spoke in italian knowing it calmed you down the quickest.

“tesoro, va bene, starai bene, sono qui” he muttered desperately trying to help

baby girl, it’s okay, you’ll be okay, i’m here

He gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead knowing it’s your favourite. You smile lightly trying to appreciate the help he was giving.

Theo then held your shaking hands and traced his thumb over them to soothe you. You turn around so your back is against his chest, not letting your hands separate.

He places a kiss on the top of your head. Thankfully this calms you down enough to block out the noise of the party on the other side of the door.

Before you knew it, it was the next morning, you had drifted off to sleep in Theodore’s arms. He had layed you down in bed and wrapped himself around you. He didn’t let you go all night.

masterlist

[alwaysonthemend]

Author’s Note: This fic is in response to this lovely ask and from @jakeyt and her sinfully lovely little blurb as well. I loved writing this. The way I would pay all the money in my bank account to be able to make Jake Kiszka whimper… Ah well, a girl can dream. 

Content Warnings: Fem!reader, smut, unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, dom!Jake & sub!reader (briefly), sub!Jake & dom!reader, overstimulation, cum play, name calling (whore, slut, etc), hickeys, biting. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.5k

///////

O how the mighty have fallen. 

-

For Jake Kiszka, being a famous rockstar has its perks – money, traveling, thousands of adoring fans screaming his name, not to mention getting to do what he loves for a living surrounded by his brothers… all the things that you know Jake is thankful for. He’s told you countless times how lucky he feels, how humbled he is by the band’s success and by how much their fans support and love them.  

But there’s one thing that comes with the job that Jake absolutely despises...

Paperwork. 

It’s not often that he has to do it – all the contract signing and label nonsense that comes along with being famous. But whenever he does have to do it… well, it always leaves him in a sour mood. 

And that’s exactly what he’s upstairs at his desk doing right now as you grow more and more bored by the second. You’d already cleaned up from the meal you’d shared a few hours before, you’d dusted, swept the floor, and re-arranged the ridiculous number of throw blankets that you and Jake have somehow managed to acquire over the years. But still… Jake is busy. So busy, in fact, that he’d declined your earlier offer of a special dessert after dinner, claiming that this paperwork just had to get done tonight. 

But you’re tired of waiting. 

Deciding that enough is enough, you ascend the stairs to your shared bedroom where you know Jake is currently hunched over the desk in the corner as he reads through all the musical industry jargon that’s nearly impossible to understand. You quietly enter the room, bare feet welcoming the softness of your carpeted bedroom floor as you creep up behind him. 

“Still at it, huh?”

Jake startles, whipping his head around to glance at you over his shoulder before turning back around. 

“Yep.” He mumbles, a fingertip tracing down the page in front of him. 

“Sure is taking a while.” You walk closer to him, hovering over his shoulder to glance down at the papers in front of him. 

Jake only hums in response, flipping a page over. 

“Any idea when you’ll be done?” You ask, lips hovering so, so close to the sensitive skin of his neck – the spot right behind his ear that you know drives him crazy. 

“Sooner if you let me work in peace.” The words are accompanied by a huff – not quite annoyed but definitely not pleased with your interruption. 

“Touchy.” You tell him, earning yourself a sharp glance from the corner of his eye. 

Realizing that you’re not going to get anything from him with just words, you decide it’s time to up your game a little bit. Dropping to your knees next to his chair, you glance up at him through your lashes. The movement finally seems to draw his full attention as he swivels in his chair to look at you in confusion. 

His jaw clenches as he fully takes in the position that you’ve placed yourself in. Success. 

“Y/n. What are you doing?” 

“Waiting patiently and quietly,” you say with a little shrug, doing your best to play innocent, “for you to be finished.” 

His eyes narrow, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“Sure you are.” He says, voice a little lower and his eyes dilating. You know now that you’ve got him hook, line, and sinker. “Definitely not trying to tease me at all?”

“I’m not teasing.” You tilt your head, spreading your thighs a little bit. “Is me sitting here bothering you?”

Jake grins a little, spreading his own legs as he keeps his dark eyes fixed on you. 

“Just giving me a few, very unhelpful and entirely too distracting ideas.” 

Oh you’ve really got him now. You know that there’s no way in hell that he’ll go back to whatever he was working on before. His hips shift in his seat, the light gray material of his pants allowing you to see as his length begins to harden – twitching and straining beneath the fabric. 

“What sort of ideas?” You ask him, heat flooding to your core at the sight of his very obvious desire. 

Instead of answering, Jake reaches down and grips your jaw in his calloused hand – his thumb coming up to drag along your bottom lip. You bite back a moan as his hips shift again and his breathing catches a little, betraying just how badly he wants you. 

“Thinking about your big cock in my mouth?” 

The bluntness of your question clearly takes him off guard as his lips part in a barely there moan. But then his grin widens, eyes sparkling wickedly. 

“Something like that.” He murmurs, chest rising and falling quickly. “You know I love it when you talk filthy.” 

You nod, reaching upwards to place your hands on his knees and pushing to spread his legs wider. You scoot forward, placing yourself even closer to where you know he wants you. But you don’t move, hands staying resolutely on his knees. 

“Do you want me to stop, Jakey?” You ask, already knowing his answer. “Don’t wanna distract you...”

“No.” The word is more like a growl and his grip on your jaw tightens. His hips rock forward again, as if needing relief so badly that the little friction his pants provide is better than what you’re refusing to give him. “You know good and well what I want, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” You smile up at him as you finally move to unzip his pants. He lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them fully down, leaving him in his boxers now. His cocks strains against them – his precum already leaving a dark spot on the fabric. 

“Fuck.” He groans as you finally press your palm to his length, rubbing him through the fabric slowly. His cock throbs in answer and you can’t help but laugh a little at his desperation. 

“Feel good?” You ask teasingly, rubbing your middle and pointer finger along his head in slow circles. The muscles in his thighs tense as he lets out a breath. 

“Yeah.” You slide your hand back downwards, massaging his balls through his boxers and making him groan again. “Such a fucking tease.”

You laugh lightly, pulling your hand away from him completely and he whines a little in protest. 

“I would never.” You answer, tugging his boxers down and finally setting his aching cock free. The skin is red from rubbing against the fabric and he twitches a little as the cool air hits him. 

You rise up fully, bracing both hands on the tops of his thighs before sinking your mouth down around him completely. 

“Oh.” He says through a moan, his right hand coming up to tangle in your hair as you swallow around him. “Fuckin’ hell.” 

You rise up a little, keeping your lips wrapped around his head and suckling a little bit, closing your eyes and moaning around him. It does the trick and suddenly he’s thrusting upwards the best he can, fingers tightening in your hair as you allow him to fuck into your mouth like you know he’s been thinking about doing since you first sat down at his feet. 

“Bet you’ve been waiting for this all day.” He says through clenched teeth, eyes rolling back as you moan around him again. “Just waiting to let me fuck your pretty mouth, haven’t you?”

You nod the best you can, gagging a little as the velvety head of his cock nudges the back of your throat mercilessly. Your fingers dig into his thighs as he gets a little rougher, his composure cracking completely as he nears his release. Clearly he’s been just as worked up as you’ve been these past few hours. 

His groans begin to grow even louder so you pull off him with a ‘pop’ and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Y/n, fuck.” He protests, glaring down at you the way he always does when you push him too far. “I was so close.”

“I know.” You say with a shrug, backing up a little bit. You know you’re toeing the line – getting dangerously close to pushing him too far and earning yourself a delicious punishment. But you don’t want to back down. “But you have work to do.” A nod to the papers laying abandoned on the desk. 

Jake growls, fisting his hands in your hair and tugging so that your head falls back, exposing your throat as he leans in close. 

“Don’t,” he says darkly, lips hovering just above yours, “be a brat. Or I’ll have to punish you.”

You lean upwards as much as you can with the tight grip he has on your hair and swipe your tongue across his bottom lip and then drag it across his jaw slowly, leaving a trail of saliva smeared across his beautiful face. Jake’s nostrils flare as you pull away, fire lighting in his eyes.

Without warning, Jake stands quickly and yanks on your hair, pulling you to your feet roughly. 

“Get on the fucking bed. Lose the clothes.” 

You hastily rip your tank top and shorts off, tossing them to the floor before climbing onto the bed, completely bare before him. Jake yanks his own shirt off, revealing himself fully to you as well before instantly pinning you to the mattress beneath him. 

“What, my dearest, sweetest, little angel,” he teases, “has gotten into you tonight, hm? Why are you being such a little slut?”

You relax your thighs on either side of him and roll your hips up into him, rubbing your slick folds against his aching cock. He groans then, his hand coming down to press heavily against your lower stomach to stop you from moving. 

“Were you feeling ignored?” His tone is sickly sweet, mocking and husky as you writhe beneath him. “Is that it, baby?”

“Yes.” You answer him breathlessly. “Wanted your cock so bad.”

“Oh, yeah? Such a desperate whore that you couldn’t wait just a little bit longer for me to be done? Couldn't- fuck!” 

You cut him off, scissoring your legs and throwing your bodyweight with them as you flip Jake completely into his back, You settle on top of him, straddling him and using your body to pin him for once. 

“You were taking too long.” You tell him, loving the way his mouth has dropped open in complete shock at you challenging him like this. “And you talk too much.”

“You’re asking for it, angel.” He warns darkly, but the flush on his chest and the way his cock keeps twitching betrays how the roles reversing has affected him. 

“Am I?” You ask, sliding your wet pussy along his length where it rests against his stomach. “I think you like this too much to do anything about it…” You place both palms on his stomach for leverage, relishing in the softness of him as you continue to slide up and down on his hard cock. 

His hands come up and grip your hips harshly, his eyes fluttering shut as he guides your hips over him faster. 

“Bloody hell, where has this been hiding?” He asks through gritted teeth. 

“Fuck, I dunno. You made me wait for too long.” You answer, struggling to get the words out thanks to the way his shaft is rubbing against your swollen clit – the feeling made even better thanks to his precum and your wetness mixing together. 

“Ride me, angel.” He begs, fingers digging into your hips so harshly you know it’s gonna leave bruises. “Wanna see you bouncing on my cock.”

“Fuck.” You whine, rising up a little bit as he fists his dick, helping to guide himself into you as you slowly sink down onto him. 

You both cry out loudly, the stretch of him nearly overwhelming. 

“Jake.” You whimper. “Oh my God.”

“So fuckin’ tight.” 

You start to bounce, tossing your hair over your shoulder and keeping your palms on his abdomen. Jake thrusts up to meet you, sweat dripping down his temples.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last long like this.” His voice sounds just as wrecked as he looks, his cock already twitching and pulsing inside you. You’re teasing from earlier has clearly done a number on him but you’re right behind him too.

With his eyes rolled back into his head and his creamy skin shiny and flushed, he looks like the picture of sin. His throat bobs, looking all too bite-able. His hair is splayed out on the pillow beneath his head like a halo — though you're entirely certain that no angel would want anything to do with you and him right now. A fallen angel then, you think to yourself, lost in the throes of pleasure.

Overcome by the sight of him beneath you like this, by the sounds of pleasure that tumble from his lips with each roll of your hips, you lean downwards and attach your mouth to the column of his throat. Then, almost without thinking, your teeth graze the sensitive skin and Jake jolts beneath you, a loud moan escaping him as you bite down — pinching his skin with your teeth. You soothe the spot with a pass of your tongue, moving downwards a little to suck a purple mark onto his skin.

"Do that again." His voice sounds so unlike himself — needy and desperate. "Mark me." It's not a request — but a whiny, broken prayer.

There's no denying him now as you graze your lips over to the other side of his neck, sucking another bruise there. You can feel his cock pulse as you do so and his breathing quickens even more.

"So pretty, Jakey."

He whimpers in answer, plush lips dropping open and tiny little grunts and moans leaving them with every thrust of his hips.

His cock feels so good inside of you, the ridges and veins brushing against your walls in a delicious drag and the blunt head hitting against your sweet spot with each rise and fall of your hips. He's driving into you recklessly, coaxing you closer and closer and closer to your release. Your thighs begin to burn but you can't stop. You won't stop.

“Jake, ‘m gonna cum! Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” 

“Yeah. Fucking do it, angel. Oh fuck!”

Suddenly his thumb is circling your clit and then your orgasm is crashing through you. Your walls clench around him as you cry out his name – the burn in your thighs fading into nothing as you continue to ride him through your release. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jake is right behind you, thrusting up helplessly as he finishes, painting your walls with his release. 

As your mind finally begins to return, as the waves of pleasure dissipate at last, you’re hit with a wonderfully devilish idea. You’ve gotten away with more than you ever have before tonight and… what’s one more thing, really? 

You pull off Jake, climbing off to the side of his body. His eyes are closed, his face the picture of bliss. Giving him no warning, you wrap your hand around his spent cock. Jake's body convulses, eyes snapping open as he whines. Loudly. 

“Y/n!” He cries out your name as you jerk him roughly, his poor cock valiantly beginning to harden again as you work your palm over him, yours and his releases making it slick and easy. “God.”

“Give me one more, Jakey.” You murmur, unable to tear your gaze away from him. He writhes, hands falling to his sides and fisting the sheets into his hands, fingers turning white where his rings dig into his skin. 

“I can’t!” He cries out, head thrashing. “Fuck, it’s too much.” 

He sounds so desperate, so broken and it sends a thrill through you. Oh how the mighty has fallen at last.

“Poor baby.” You tease. “Getting a taste of your own medicine, yeah?” 

He whimpers in answer, body going taut as pleasure finally begins to overtake him again. He really is tasting his own medicine – experiencing first hand the sinful agony that he loves to inflict upon you. It’s always you. 

But not tonight. No, he’s been flying too close to the sun for a long, long time and tonight he’s finally paying the price for it. 

“Give me another one, baby.” You murmur, eyeing the way his hair sticks to the side of his face and his neck with sweat. “Show me how much you love me. Show me that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” He says through a moan, body beginning to tremble. “Only yours. Fuck!”

“Yeah, you are. You’re mine.” 

His body goes completely rigid, muscles so tense you’re almost afraid he might hurt himself. 

“Holy shit! Oh God, I’m gonna- fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it, baby. That’s right. Being such a good boy.”

That does it. Jake’s whole body convulses, his eyes rolling back in his head as hot cum explodes from him. He screams – a sound so beautiful and full of pleasure that you’ve never heard from him before. You work him through it, watching as he completely succumbs to it all, chanting your name the whole way through. 

Finally, his body relaxes slightly and he whimpers so you let go of him and reach up to swipe his hair from his forehead. You can feel his racing heartbeat as you place your hand on his chest, hoping to try and help him settle a little. Those gorgeous eyes of his finally blink open to look at you and a tired, satiated smile spreads across his lips. 

“Okay?” You ask, trying to hold back your own grin after seeing such a display from him. 

“Jesus. I think so.” He shifts a little, grimacing at the feeling of his cum drying on his stomach and chest. “Sticky.” He adds with a little pout. 

You roll your eyes playfully and rise to grab his boxers off the floor and wipe him clean, carefully avoiding his abused cock where it lays spent against his thigh. 

“That was fucking hot.” You tell him, settling down next to him in the bed. The lights are still on but neither of you seem to have the energy to get up and turn them off quite yet. 

“Yeah.” He breathes out, laughing a little, “I think my soul left my body there for a minute.”

“Would do again, then?” You ask, grinning a little at him. 

He grins back. 

“Oh, fuck yes. I didn’t know you had that in you… taking control like that.”

You turn on your side to face him and press a little kiss to his lips.

“Me neither.”

 After a long moment of comfortable, exhausted silence you ask, suddenly a little worried, “That paperwork didn’t actually have to be done by tonight, right?”

“Fuck.”

fin

////////

My taglist

Tags:

@joshym

@demolitionndann

@brujamagik

@mybussyinchrist

@writingcold

@sinsofstardust

@jjwasneverhere

@ohgodthefeeling-gvf

@wildbluesorbit 

@twistedmelodies

@neverwanttofallasleep

@sunandthemoontwinflames

@clairesjointshurt

@mindastreamofcolours

@hellowgoodbye

@gretasfallingsky

@weightofkiszka

@gvfmelbourne

@smoking-jakelane

@joshskittytickler

@itsafullmoon 

@mackalah 

@sinarainbows 

@dannys-dream

@lipstickitty

@thewritingbeforesunrise

@isabelgvf

@sparrowofrhiannon

@jakesguitarsolo

@peaceloveunitygvf

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Sibling Cat Hybrids: Patricia and Pepper

Deciding to take on hybrids was something you were hesitant to do 

Besides being morally controversial for you, it was a huge hit to your spending money

But you got tired of the faux pride you got donating to hybrid-care facilities 

So instead you decide to walk into a shelter (one with good practices)

And you tell them upfront that you’re willing to open your home and heart to the ones who need you most

Crippled, rejected for looks, attitude problems

The helper lights up and then deflates before asking some leading questions

“Do you like cats?”

And that is how you are given Patricia and Pepper

This sister and brother duo are two sides of the same kind

Patricia has a luxuriously long tail and grooming routine that matches

“Are you illiterate? The signed packet told you I needed to be groomed, shampooed, and conditioned regularly.”

“Well yeah, that’s why I left everything in the bathroom.”

“Hold on! You think I’m doing this myself?! Nuh-Uh, You have so much to learn! Grab the brush and pull up a stool, now!”

Demanding as she is gorgeous Patricia is a cat girl with expensive tastes

Until that day she’ll likely swipe your credit card to buy the incredibly overpriced brand-powered shampoo 

And just curl her lip at you when you confront her

“Don’t cry, if you keep working hard I’m sure you’ll pay it off.”

For as unhelpful and arrogant as she is, her brother is an extreme opposite

“I know you showed us to those extra rooms just for us but i-if you don’t mind my stench I think I can serve you better in your room!”

“What?!”

“I’ll be happy to sleep on the floor! I promise I’ll be useful!”

Pepper’s always so eager to help and talk himself down

You’ll literally have to fight him to make sure he’s sleeping and taking care of himself instead of the home

“P–please I’ll probably eat once I finish cleaning this one last thing.”

“Probably?! No, you look like you’ve lost too much weight!”

“Nooo please!”

This dynamic will be going on for a long while 

You going to work and returning home to find either Pepper in danger needlessly risking his life 

Or Patricia throwing out all of your childhood memorabilia because she felt it was tacky

Maybe for once you shed a tear

Or you yell

Or you just completely shut down from any conversation 

In the end, you leave 

For a long time

Longer than you’d go to the store or even work

You’re just gone

“Pat I think you did it again. You scared them off!”

“I scared them off? Please I know very few people who’d be happy coming home to a corpse.”

“At least I was trying to be useful!”

“I took care of the grooming they didn’t do, that’s plenty generous.”

“Thanks to you, they’re sending us away! I really liked this one!”

“Don’t blame me, you cur! They’re leaving because you appall them!”

They argue for hours

Because they are siblings

And it helps with filling the sound of you going through your nightly routine

By the end of it, both of their hair are sticking out 

they’re pacing while nervously staring at the door

So many thoughts in their head 

The embarrassment of being sent back

The disappointment and scorn from the employees when they return

The pain they felt when you reacted the way you did

The suffocating fear of you leaving them forever

They’ve had absent owners…but they were always that way

You were there even if you sighed and scolded them, you were still there

You might’ve kept to yourself but you didn’t ignore them

At the end of the day, they still ate together with you

… They really didn’t like this

When the lock on the door clicks and the light clicking of a turn begins 

They’re leaping for the door

Capturing you in a hug you can’t escape from

“We missed you! I-I’m very sorry! I fished out and cleaned everything! Please forgive me! And please don’t just send me away! Oh and my brother too.”

“PLEASEDON’TSENDUSAWAYPLEASEDON’TPLEASEPLEASEIMIGHTBEPUSHEDTOSTRAPABOMBTOMYSELFANDBLOWINGUP—”

“Whoa whoa, I’m not sending you guys away. Also, Pepper what was that you were going to say?”

“WAAAAHHHH tHANK THAank YOu! WAHHH” 

After Pepper can breathe, you don’t mind sitting down with them to finally speak

“I’m glad you’re not sending us away. I was certain you found us annoying enough to.”

“Oh no I do find you two annoying.”

“What?! wwwwWAAHHHH!”

“But I’m not going to send you away because of that. Also, I think it’s pretty crummy that I can even do that after all the paperwork I signed.”

“WAHH! I’M ANNOYING!?”

“Yes, Pepper now shush. That’s very mature of you I also appreciate your honesty.”

 Ultimately they relax when it comes to being sent away

But they’re worried that you barely address your annoyance 

“Even my friends annoy me. It’s not that bad.”

“But it is. I–we pushed you so far…we’d like not to do this again.”

“I-I think…Pat and I just want to please you…maybe more than just what your morals allow.”

Thus a new routine has begun

One that won’t have you leaving for hours on end

“Good Evening dirt on my heels, who’s going to give me a gift big enough to buy that Prada collar I’ve been eying?”

Now Patricia streams finding a small group of people willing to fund her interests allowing her to contribute to the home 

Pepper continues to clean up the house but with new parameters

“Here (Y/n)! I took pictures of me eating all my meals today! See? Now can I get head pats?”

This works allowing them not to get on your nerves while you navigate life with your two hybrids

If they have any say in it that’ll be all you’ll be aware of

On the other side, Patricia and Pepper are taking their independence very seriously

“Pepper, did you finish your dossier on the coworker who called yesterday?”

“I did, here’s the file. I’ve already gone to the trouble of mapping out their routine; highlighting the best times depending on the method we use.”

“Good work. Now next report?”

“Yes! I found this while cuddling (Y/n) last night~ They got all giggly when I touched a specific spot with my tail.”

“...Last night where was I?”

“Dealing with the neighbor’s loud little pest.”

“Right…For equal treatment, I’ll be initiating our cuddle session tonight.’

“Hahaha…nice imagination Patty but that’s my job.”

Somehow fighting between the siblings still persist but you’d take that over the stalemate you two had before

[icycoldninja]

Do you know how in every Soulsborne games, there is almost always one maiden present in the game

For example in Elden Ring there’s Tarnished (the player) and Melina:

In Bloodborne, it’s The Hunter (the player) and the Plain Doll:

Another example is the Ashen one (the player) and the Firekeeper:

Can you write a maiden reader and the DMC boys following this relationship archetype, basically a knight and a maiden but here’s a catch:

The boys venture to an abandoned castle on Mallet Island to find Mundus and then that’s where they find an awkward young woman, who seems pretty sketchy at first due to how awkward she is (can’t really blame her since she’s been kidnapped and locked away by Mundus ever since she was a young teenager till now so her communication skills are rather f-ed up)

So naturally they keep their guards up around her…and her, although very wary around them, has to do her job as a maiden which is to serve them in every possible way regardless of their offer even if she may feel uncomfortable doing so like trying to offer them help like bringing them warm water, medication, letting them vent to her, bringing them books to cure their boredom, etc…Much to her surprise, even though they do generally accept her care from time to time, they would never force her to do something that genuinely makes her feel uncomfortable a.k.a prostitution which is something a lot of men who came to the castle request her to do it after a certain period of time

Time after time, they gradually grow close with each other, sharing their thoughts and insecurities and in return offers comfort for one and another (usually it’s the reader letting them sleep on her lap and patting their back in a nurturing way). It really is a fresh breathe of air for the reader because for so long she has yet to form such a close bond with someone else that is not in an unhelpful or abusive way (she fell first but he fell harder trope)

When the boys finished their goals, they no longer need to stay on the island and when the news arrive, the reader was scared because they’ll leave her just like many others do when she already so attached to them. Originally, she was tasked by Mundus to pry out any information from them but she can’t bring herself to do it because of how nice they are to her and now she can’t bring herself to confront them abt her original purpose because that would mean they would have more of a reason to hate her and that’s the last thing she wants, to be hated by the only person who have shown you kindness throughout the abuse and manipulation you have undergone your entire life

So she begs them to forgive and at the same time, if they can’t do that then at least dispatch her so that she no longer has to suffer under the hands of Mundus

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

P/S: if you can, pls write a reader with a poor posture and just generally not really attractive like Rya from Elden Ring. I can’t find any good pictures of Rya without her being goonified so I use my oc as an example (It’s not an OC x DMC boys)

Sure, sure. Sorry this took so long to get to.

Sparda boys + V x Maiden!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante ended up traveling to some abandoned castle on Mallet Island during his search for Mundus, where they find this...odd young lady.

-See, she wasn't conventionally attractive and had very poor posture, making her appear a bit...lifeless.

-He didn't trust someone as sketchy as you, and kept his guard up even as you followed him around, offering advice about the castle, bringing him water and things, though where these items came from was questionable.

-Time passes, and Dante gets used to you, growing comfortable enough to let you sleep on his lap and such. You might be a bit weird looking, but you're a sweet soul whom he's starting to really bond with.

-When Dante finished his business on Mallet Island, he had to leave, which disheartened you because you were afraid he would abandon you. What made things worse was, you didn't want to reveal your true reasons for befriending him, because if you did, he might be even more inclined to just disappear without a trace, and that was the last thing you wanted.

-Turns out, Dante planned to take you with him all along, and now that you're free from Mallet Island, you don't have to worry about your original mission, though there is the threat of demons coming to look for you.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil was searching for Mundus to get revenge for all that had happened to him, when he discovered this bizarre woman.

-You were an stooped lady who looked unhealthily pale, carrying an eerie aura and generally seeming like someone who would work with demons--or is a demon.

-This didn't stop you from guiding him through the castle, bringing him food, water, and books when he needed to rest, and keeping him company despite his blatant hatred of human interaction.

-After some time, Vergil felt himself warming up to you, even letting you use his lap as a pillow while he read from the books you brought him. You were an odd looking person, but he liked you.

-When he finished his business and prepared to depart, you started panicking, trying so hard to keep him in the castle that it became extremely suspicious. Vergil asked you why you didn't want him to leave, and you confessed your true intentions, telling him how Mundus wanted to use you as a spy, but you just didn't have the heart to.

-Vergil scoffed at that and told you that if you hated being abandoned, just come with him. He was sure there was an extra room at Devil May Cry anyway.

□ Nero □

-Nero didn't really know what he was doing on Mallet Island, but he saw this big spooky castle and figured that's where the bad guys would be.

-Instead, he found you, this strange, slouched woman with a horrible complexion and a strange, ominous aura.

-He let's you guide him through the castle, telling him about its history, bringing him supplies when he takes breaks, and generally keeping him company.

-Nero thought you were pretty weird, but in a good way. He was really growing to like you, and after a bit, he let you lie on his lap while you talked about your insecurities, your lives, and everything else in between.

-Eventually, he had to leave, and in your panic, you told him everything; how Mundus intended to use you as a spy, and how you just didn't have the heart to.

-Nero was understandably shocked, but got over it quickly. Since you never betrayed him, why should he be mad? Come with him!

● V ●

-V was looking for Mundus at the behest of his fellow devil hunters, and in doing do, stumbled across this odd castle.

-Within this castle lived a very odd woman with horrible posture and a face that screamed potential danger.

-While a tad bit worried about his wellbeing and your intentions, V didn't mind it if you followed him around, acting as his assistant of sorts.

-You guys end up getting closer and closer with each passing day. You liked V because he was kind to you and didn't try to take advantage of you, while V enjoyed your presence because you were endearingly sweet to him.

-Alas, all things must come to an end. V had finished his business and was about to leave, worrying you because the last thing you wanted was to be abandoned again.

-V noticed this and offered you a place at Devil May Cry. You accepted, not telling him of your troubled past, though it seemed to be for the best. Some things are better left unsaid.

[total-drama-brainrot]

How firmly do you believe in Noah's ability to copy voices?

I have seen people make him be able to copy other contestants voices and mimicking them to a point it feels uncanny to the other contestants.

My point? P! Noah would definitely use that to his advantage. I just think that was a cool concept so here. :)

Anon I need you to understand that I've already used that exact concept in one of my fics. Like, it was an integral part of the first chapter of said fic. (And one that I regret not using more, since it's such a fun concept to play with. My drafts are full of different scenarios using this exact premise.)

I believe whole-heartedly in giving Noah weird party trick abilities and other "obscure" talents like vocal mimicry - but only when he uses them in the most unhelpful ways possible.

Mostly because he's kind of lacking when it comes to his viability as a contestant in the show; most of his competitors are either physically gifted to make up for their mental/emotional shortcomings (i.e. Eva, Izzy, Courtney, Sierra, ect.), intentionally or unintentionally adept at playing the social aspect of the game (Alejandro, Justin kind of, Owen, Lindsay, ect), or have some sort of character gimmick that benefits them in the competition (Harold's... Harold-ness, Izzy's wildcard energy). Noah doesn't have that. It's actually kind of impressive just how useless Noah is in terms of the competition, since he's supposed to be one of the smartest characters in the show but his slothful nature prevents him from actually utilizing this.

My answer? Have Noah use that big brain of his to develop and cultivate weird talents that end up being somewhat useful. Like the ability to mimic voices. And his canonical hacking abilities that he never uses in the main series.

In terms of p!Noah, I'm actually on the fence on giving him the same ability. Mostly because he's already got both canon Noah's smarts and the physical prowess to make him a competitive threat, even if he still maintains the same apathy towards the competition itself. He isn't really focused on winning the competition itself, but his innate skillset makes him a pretty big threat regardless, especially if he ever decides to shift his focus from self entertainment to trying to win. Giving him extra abilities on top of his established skillset just seems like overkill.

But. One of the core aspects of p!Noah's character is his prankster-type nature, which is mostly a result of him trying to stave off his perpetual boredom by pulling pranks and jokes on his competitors. In very much the same vein that canon Noah throws jabs and barbed comments at his castmates, p!Noah instead plots and schemes different ways to make them suffer for his entertainment (whilst also throwing out jabs an barbed comments). It wouldn't exactly be out of character for him to commit himself to learning how to copy voices just for the sake of tormenting people.

Especially if he's using said talent before the "reveal".

Could you imagine the kind of shit p!Noah could stir just by using someone else's voice? He's got the same unnoteworthy background character benefits as canon Noah for the first season- barring Izzy's immediate attention as a fellow person of flimsy sanity- so he'd be able to blend seamlessly into the background and gather information on the more vocal campers, stuff he'd easily be able to twist and recontextualise in the earshot of others; for his own benefit, sure, but p!Noah wouldn't care about using this for his own standing in the game so much as his own amusement.

It'd be more in character for him to use Gwen's voice to make an off-handed comment about how he thinks guys who play guitar are "trying too hard" or something, coincidentally when Trent himself is near enough to overhear, just to watch their will-they-won't-they song and dance crumble under the strain of Trent's insecurity. (Which could either help or hinder Heather's later stunt, which takes advantage of that same insecurity.)

There's a nearly endless well of opportunity when it comes to fucking around with vocal mimicry and p!Noah would cherish that fact.

Or maybe he'd wait for Heather and Leshawna to get into another argument during one of the Gopher's challenges, more specifically for them to end an argument and walk away from each other in a huff, only to chime in with Heather's voice,

"Ugh, what a bitch."

Just loud enough for the two of them to hear and consequently react to; Leshawna, of course, with reignited outrage and Heather with gobsmacked confusion. Leshawna would immediately confront Heather about the comment, and only get more mad when Heather denies saying it- despite it being in her voice. Meanwhile, Noah watches the two of them taunt each other into a bigger confrontation with the added benefit of the rest of their team scrambling to diffuse the situation (and get back on task for whatever challenge they're supposed to be doing).

[starswritewhispers]

no longer human, less than a man [1]

A03

prologue

chapter 2

Summary : The gods had abandoned humanity long before Osamu Dazai was born, but his existence quickly grew to become a beacon of hope. Where he would walk, whispers would follow and murmurs of a path back to the gods quickly grew to battle cries. When he and his two companions went missing on one of their journeys to godhood, the cries quieted down to murmurs and whispers until eventually, both they and the gods were nothing more than myths.

Nobody had accounted for Dazai not only becoming successful in finding the lost shrine, but achieving the godhood that came with it.

For 80 years, he was left alone in his divinity, until a drunk college student stumbled upon the shrine of chaos.

OR Chuuya and Dazai are gods reborn

Not many people in the world would describe Chuuya as patient.    He was brash, quick to react, and quicker to emotion, and despite anyone who took more than a one second glance at him being able to decipher that he loved harder than he hated, most avoided pissing him off out of fear of that quick anger.  Sadly, his friends had long grown tolerant to his outbursts. “Let go of me,” he hissed, eyes flashing dangerously as he leveled a sharp gaze at Tachihara. The other man only squished his cheeks further, forcing him to hold eye contact. “People are staring.”

“That may be because you very loudly called him an example that cheap box dye can kill brain cells,” Gin piped in, horribly unhelpful, despite her sugar tone.  She offered a faux naive smile when he glared her direction and Chuuya was–as he often is, in her presence– reminded that most poisons taste sweet. “Besides, he isn’t wrong.” She waved their argument off, eyes darting back to her phone. 

“Gin,” Tachihara groaned, not yet relinquishing his hold on Chuuya’s cheeks. “Back me up more, this is so much more important than whatever you’ve got going on.” “Ryu is talking about the god dude again,” She groaned, looking at her phone as though infected. “We’re in our twenties, how does he still have imaginary friends?” “Maybe he’s just indulging Atsushi,” Kenji offered, looking up from his agriculture homework for the first time during the conversation. “Both of them call the guy Dazai.” Personally, Chuuya could care less about whatever concussion based hallucination the two closet cases shared.  He hadn’t cared to begin with and he cared even less when Gin dragged him to the location the two maniacs promised the guy would be and instead of meeting a god, buckets worth of snow dropped on all of their heads from a tree branch snapping above them. “You guys are focusing on the wrong toxic relationship,” Tachihara tsked, ignoring Gin’s protests. “Chuuya, my redheaded brethren–” “Do not call me that–” “Look me in the eyes–” “You’re not giving me much of a choice–” “--and promise me, you will not go to the Sheep’s party.” “Even Chuuya isn’t–”  It was Poe who spoke up this time, before he paused, studying Chuuya’s, thankfully now Tachihara free face, and a frown twitched at his lips. “He might be.” Chuuya was not about to take criticism from a man who’s closest relationship was to a fucking racoon he found shivering in a dumpster their freshman year. “Might be what?” He hissed, rubbing at his cheeks. “I’m not going to show up at my ex’s frat just because Yuan invited me. It’s obviously a ploy to get me into his pants.” 

“Promise?” Tachihara demanded, eyes narrowed. “Yes, dipshit, I promise.” Tachihara breathed out a sigh of relief as Chuuya let out an offended huff. Honestly, the lack of faith his friends had in him was disturbing.  -

Which was why when he found himself drunkenly stumbling through the streets after getting absolutely shitfaced at said party he promised not to make an appearance at, he made a second promise to himself.

His friends would not find out about this, under any circumstances. 

Which lead to his phone, instead of being used to guide him home, was currently shut off and in his back pocket.  His apartment wasn’t that far from Frat’s Row so the chances of him getting completely lost were slim, but he had never been the best with directions to begin with. At least this way, if his friends checked his location, they'd just assume he let his phone die when he fell asleep. “Shit,” he mumbled, eyes moving around the unfamiliar area. He had managed to wander into the middle of what seemed to be a construction site, which would’ve just been annoying, except for the fact that there was no active construction near his apartment. “Why do you hate me?” He tilted his head up to the sky, continuing moving forward up until his foot slipped and he was sliding down into the ground.  A startled yelp tore from the back of his throat as he tumbled out of the shaft onto the cold surface, eyes widening as he took in his surroundings. “What the fuck?” He demanded, looking behind where he had tumbled out of only to see that the hole had somehow closed. “I’m never,” he began, slowly sliding himself off the altar-like structure he had landed on. “Ever taking a brownie from Kaji again.” He groaned, looking up to face the massive statue in front of him. He was most certainly in some drug induced high brought on by Kaji’s weird experiments.  He squinted at the words--or at least he assumed they were words–scrawled onto the plaque at the feet of the statue and sighed,  moving his gaze around the rest of the room.  His eyes landed on an unlit, petrified torch that seemed to be levitating in the middle of the room. “Definitely a drug induced dream,” Chuuya decided, walking forward to the floating torch. “If I wake up in Shirase’s bed, I’m going to get murdered.” These words were mumbled to himself, although, every sentence he had spoken aloud, unless the walls suddenly grew ears, were also spoken to himself. He tilted his head, staring blankly at the anomaly in front of him. He reached for the torch, figuring that it was a way for his subconscious to both wake him up and insult him at the same time. You’re not very bright. The flickering torch seemed to scream at him as he wrapped his fingers around the wood.  The world seemed to tilt on its axis, Chuuya’s vision dancing with sparks as he fell to the ground.  His attempt to catch himself on the altar only led to his hand getting cut, an odd, glittering gold substance leaking out of the scrape.  He didn’t have time to question the oddity of it all before his vision went fully black and the world slipped away from him. 

-

Chuuya woke up in his own bed, hazy memories of a voice that sounded merged with the tinkering keys of a piano fading away in his mind as he rubbed at his eyes. God, who made the sun so fucking bright. “You got carried home,” A whiny voice from his left accused, sounding quite put out. “My disciples just let me get lost and wander.” Chuuya shrieked, rounding to face the owner of the voice and meeting the gaze of the most attractive man he’d ever seen.  The man’s dark hair was a mess of waves, but somehow still suited his annoyingly attractive face. His own blue eyes met pools of amber, hints of mischief glinting in them as the man’s lips curled into a mocking smirk. At least the maniac Chuuya apparently brought home was hot. Even if his fashion sense was abysmal. “What are you wearing?” He demanded, eyeing the trench coat and bandages with clear distaste. “Were you wearing that when we met?” He hoped not.  Even at his worst, he hoped he wouldn’t have been okay being seen around that. “Is bringing home strangers common for you, then?” The man’s voice had an odd lilt to it, a branch of amused with a hint of mockery. There wasn’t any real malice in it, but certainly no kindness either. It was the kind of tone that would suit the villains Poe always gushed about, the ones who treated the world like their own personal game of chess. “And, seeing as this is our first time meeting,” He said casually, obviously, as if it didn’t mean he had broken into Chuuya’s apartment, “I am wearing this, and it’s far better than your outfit.” “You broke into my apartment?” Chuuya demanded, scooting to the far edge of the bed. Fuck, Tachihara was right about last night. “What the fuck–” “I didn’t break in,” The man waved it away, as if the idea was a pesky fly. “I was summoned by your disciples.” Chuuya was definitely about to get murdered by a homeless man with a god complex. His corpse would end up on the news, probably defiled and carved up with weird symbols this man dreamed in a drug induced haze– Kouyou would sob at his funeral and remind their dads that ‘I told you that he shouldn’t have gone to school in the city’ and his ghost wouldn’t even be able to defend itself. “My name’s Dazai, by the way.” The man continued on, completely ignoring Chuuya’s panic. “Dazai?” He repeated, voice sounding hysterical to his own ears. The name rang a bell, many bells in fact, but he couldn’t follow the string of recognition amidst all his panic. “Please don’t fuck my corpse, Dazai.”

“Not like you could become one, anyway,” Dazai answered in an odd, sing-song tone, “You really are quite small to be chosen as a god.” “Excuse me?” Chuuya demanded, feeling irrational anger pounding at the walls of his brain. The man was clearly a lunatic and arguing with him about his height was probably the least productive thing Chuuya could do, but per usual, his mouth was running before his mind could leash it. “You’re dressed head to toe in bandages and you want to insult the way I look?” “Can you calm down, shrimp?” Dazai’s lips quirked up at the edges, looking over Chuuya’s shoulder. “You’re making shit levitate with your fun sized rage.” “The fuck do you–” The words died in Chuuya’s throat as he saw multiple objects float up into the air, seemingly suspended there, actively defying gravity. “Oh my god, I’m still in the drug dream.” He whispered to himself. “Am I in a coma?” He demanded, staring at his hands. “Would I know?” “This is quite embarrassing for you,” Dazai–truly, his brain had to make his coma companion this annoying– mused. “Can you put the bed down, we’re about to hit the ceiling.”  Chuuya looked up, a yelp escaping his throat as he saw the ceiling a few centimeters above him. “How the fuck–” “Just think down, it's not that difficult." The bed crashed to the ground. 

“This is the worst hangover dream–” Chuuya began, but got cut off by the sound of loud knocking at his apartment’s door.  “I have a key and I’m not afraid to use it,” Tachihara’s loud voice floated in and Chuuya groaned. “Why did Gin see a photo of you on Shirase’s lap on Higuchi’s private story?”  A soft, unintelligible, voice added something, probably Gin confirming the story.

It all sounded so real, it all felt so real, but the shrine couldn’t have been real, his books and bed floating midair had no way of being real and yet–

Chuuya paused, looking between Dazai and the door. He remembered that photo being taken, right before he wisely stumbled his way out of the frat house and down the hall–before he had his weird shrine dream.  Would a dream be this connected to the real world?

“You’re awake,” Dazai confirmed, rising off from his cross legged position on his bed. “And your friends sound quite angry.”

Chuuya wanted to go back to sleep.

[multiplicity-positivity]

Here’s some positivity for systems who don’t use -genic or other origins labels!

ALL systems are beautiful, valid, and integral members of the plural community. Not every system will use or benefit from -genic or other origin labels, and that’s okay! There is nothing wrong with accepting your system as it is, and choosing not to label how your system formed. So here’s to all the systems who don’t identify with origin labels!

🌙 Shoutout to systems who genuinely don’t know and don’t care to learn about their system’s origins!

🪐 Shoutout to systems who used to have a label for their origins, but have since abandoned or stopped using it!

⭐️ Shoutout to systems who want to just exist and be accepted as they are, without any origin labels tied to their identity!

☀️ Shoutout to systems who reject origin labels as a reclamation of power and agency in their own lives!

🌙 Shoutout to systems who are confused or troubled by -genic and/or origin labels!

🪐 Shoutout to systems who are satisfied with using the labels “system” and “plural” to describe themselves!

⭐️ Shoutout to systems who want to keep their system origins private!

☀️ Shoutout to systems with dissociative disorders who choose to define their plurality through a lense of DID, OSDD, or P-DID rather than -genic or other labels!

🌙 Shoutout to systems who hate feeling like they have to use an origin label in order to be accepted in the plural community!

🪐 Shoutout to systems who don’t use origin labels due to others using their origins as an excuse to invalidate, fakeclaim, or otherwise harm them in the past!

⭐️ Shoutout to individual headmates who don’t use origin labels, even if the rest of their system does!

☀️ Shoutout to systems who find -genic labels to be unhelpful, counterproductive, or divisive for their own system or the plural community!

There is absolutely nothing wrong with choosing to reject or forego any labels that do not help or benefit you or your system. You deserve the right to define your own system and experiences with terminology that works best for you - and if -genic and origin labels don’t work, it’s okay to simply not use them! Choosing to not us these labels does not make you any less plural, or any less of a cherished and integral part of our community and spaces. In fact, your unique perspectives are a benefit to the plural community, and we are so happy to have you here!

Please do your best to treat yourself and your system with kindness, and try not to worry about what other people think of you due to your system’s choices regarding origin labels. Rest assured you will always have a special place in the plural community just the way you are, regardless of what terms you use to describe your origins! Thanks so much for reading, and have an amazing day!

[kirans-wonderland]

Malleus Birthday Special~

"Cmon Lilia pleaseeee. You gotta tell me" you pleaded trailing behind the older fae. "ah ah ah i'm afraid i cannot help you dearie. Why don't you ask him yourself?" You groaned. "You think I haven't tried that!? Every time i ask him what he would want he just avoids the question. I'm desperate Lils. D e s p e r a t e." The fae chuckled "I wouldn't concern yourself too much with this matter" he teased before disappearing from your line of sight.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

And thats how you ended up here... listening to Sebek... rant about Malleus. "IN CONCLUSION, I PERSONALLY WOULD BESTOW MASTER MALLEUS WITH A RECOUNTING OF HIS ACHIEVEMENTS AND WONDEROUS QUALITIES AS A GIFT ON THE DAY OF HIS BIRTH-" "SEBEK- I got it thanks. I'll keep that in mind." you sighed, rubbing your ringing ear. "I AM GLAD I COULD BE OF SUCH ASSISTANCE!!" You pursed you lips and patted his shoulder before leaving. And there's the end of the quick list.

Silver sleeping

Lilia enigmatic unhelpful grandpa

Sebek he tried, he really did <3

...

And so the day arrived, still without a gift for Malleus. This really shouldn't be so hard but what do you get for a dragon let alone a prince?? You're borderline frantic at his point. "Cmon henchhuman it's not thaaaat bad, it's not like he'll kill you... right?" "Grimmmm you're not helpi-" Knocking at the door cut you off. Exchanging a wide eyed look with Grim you moved to the door, wishing to the Great Seven that the one behind the door wasn't Malleus. The one time you'd be excited for Adeuce to come tumbling through your doorstep.

The door opened with a deafening creak. Oil hinges.. right, added to the list. And there Malleus stood. "Greetings Child of Man" "Hey Mal" "I was wondering if you would be willing to advance our daily stroll." He offered holding out his arm. You nodded putting your arm through his as you set off. You couldn't bring yourself to stop getting lost in the thought about your lack of gift. "-N... y/n? Are you alright?" You snapping out of your daze "h-huh? Oh yeah. Don't worry I'm listening."

He furrowed his brows, leading you to sit down together on a fallen tree. "What is the matter?" You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. "I'm sorry. I just- I really wanted to get you something special for your birthday.. i just couldn't think of anything. i'm sorry Malleus." You finished putting your head in your hands. He stared ay your hunched figure with slight bewilderment. He paused before laying his hand on your back. "This." You looked at him. "What?" "This. This is what I wanted." He smiled, moving a lock of hair out of your face. "I cannot fathom a gift I would desire more today than you darling." He kissed your forehead. It was your turn to smile feeling like you were going to cry over how wholesome he is. "I have an idea now" He raised his eyebrows "Oh? reall-" You cut him off pressing a kiss to his lips. He moved his hand to run through the hair at the nape of your neck keeping you close. You pulled away leaning your forehead to his. Letting out an airy chuckle you wished him a happy birthday. "It definitely is my dear~"

~~~~~~~~

YES I GOT IT OUT BEFORE MIDNIGHT (well, my time)

I ALMOST THREW UP WRITING THIS OMG IMAGINE IF MEN WERE MALLEUS.

anyways, sweet dreams all~

[crimeronan]

i'm back to thinking about the 'worst' princess AU timeline without vee.

(refresher course: belos "kills" hunter and drags luz back to the human realm, luz escapes and gets returned to camila who doesn't know her At All, hunter survives his execution and tracks luz down later.)

mainly i'm thinking about how Unbelievably Fraught that first day would be. hunter treats camila with suspicion-edging-toward-rudeness for about an hour before suddenly apologizing for being "disrespectful" and acting Freakishly deferential. camila says she needs to ask a couple questions if he's going to stay here, As Literally Any Sane Parent Would, and luz just fucking Dissolves about how she can't send hunter away.

hunter stepping outside and separating himself from luz for the first time since his arrival so he can answer camila's questions, and it's pretty clear that he thinks he's protecting luz from something. and also that that something is camila.

(oh my god, they could even do "thank you for providing me with shelter, ma'am" "please.... don't ever do that again. and you can call me camila" i've connected the dots)

camila like luz hasn't told me very much about how she was raised. or.... where she was raised. you were brought up by the same.... p...erson?? group?? death cult....?

and hunter is just like.

well. yeah.

camila asking questions about things like his age and medical history and if anybody is going to come looking for him because those are all Extremely Practical Things To Know & hunter giving Extremely Fucking Unhelpful Answers like well i'm nineteen i'm alone here and i'm not dead. thus ends my familial and medical history.

camila just straight-up asking "do you know if you have a birth certificate??" and hunter being like "i.... don't think so....?" and her being like yeah i probably don't need to bother asking if you have a social security number huh. okay. we are going to be So Careful.

also camila is not conservative or prudish in the slightest, BUT. if your catatonic teenage daughter has been locked in an unknown death cult's basement for thirteen years & you meet a boy around her age who was also locked in the death cult's basement for thirteen years and has A History with her, you would have to be Out Of Your Fucking Mind to let the two of them share a room unsupervised before you know more about their relationship. like that's just common sense.

so. i'm trying to picture the exact level of, just, Nuclear Fucking Meltdown that occurs. when camila tells them she wants them to sleep in separate rooms.

[blueikeproductions]

Welp EarthSpark is officially done in Japan via the latest Figure King magazine.

Sorta rubs the Nucleon in the Energon wound that the news of cancellation comes in a magazine celebrating 40 years of Transformers, with a cover drawn by the Kiss Players guy no less, huh?

It’s also looking more apparent EarthSpark is finito in the States too. And some staff of the show are looking to blame fans for being the b-word and the p-word. Look fella, those words lost meaning just as much as “woke” did, just take your lumps like the rest of us and admit your show didn’t work because people simply had no interest in it. Also just terrible, TERRIBLE writing and pacing. I can forgive Rise of the TMNT’s faults due to Nick not knowing what to do with it and giving the staff unhelpful feedback that kept changing it (the Netflix movie finale was a much better look at what the show was trying to be and could’ve been, but alas), but EarthSpark I have no such compunction.

Hasbro was allegedly pretty hands off and was fine with what they were doing (at least at first) so the blame can only land on the writers who clearly misunderstood what they had. I detest modern shows that have uneven pacing, tone and characterization. It’s why I don’t look fondly on Adventure Time the moment it stopped being a goofy kids show and started being some college art student’s angsty wet dream.

Clearly something changed for EarthSpark internally, and I can’t help but think Hasbro and Paramount looked at the abysmal launch of the first batch of episodes and told the staff to drastically change the story for S2. That the trailer is a more traditional Autobots vs Decepticon conflict with them hunting for Emberstone pieces ala Transformers Animated and most importantly having evil Decepticon Terrans (something fans had stated as happening in some form from the start), shows they wanted to make this into a better boy brand thing again.

The first season overcompensates by focusing too heavily on the female cast, most of them bordering on obnoxious, while making most of the male characters into morons, again Robbie dying for contrived reasons but the Maltos instead choose to love up Mo while Robbie lays there clinging to whatever life force he has left at that moment.

Instead Robbie seems to be the primary focus, with a b-plot about him having a crush on someone. I’m guessing this is where the rumors saying Hashtag comes out as gay comes from as I suspect Hashtag remarks on Robbie’s female crush being adorable and tries to be his wingman (with probably the same results when she tried helping Jawbreaker).

I feel like the intention may have been to have Mo be the focus of S1 and Robbie for S2, but it doesn’t fully come off that way as the focus is too rambling on top of trying to focus on the Terrans and Bumblebee in an RiD15 style role again.

Also what the slag is this?

If there’s one thing I hate more it’s lazy photoshopping.

Not only do they just swap Bee and Prime’s renders around, they just crudely put the kids heads on these altered bodies from their preexisting stock art… Like no Quintessons or Terracons or nothing. Nothing to make you more legitimately excited for something new. Just the same Autobots and the kids in ReBoot Guardian Code suits, ick. It’s a bit of a downgrade compared to the Prime Apex Armor suits the toys use.

Despite the cancellation, the Japanese magazine refers to a “Slash Malt”(o). Presumably this might be a Terran version of the Dinobot Slash, whose only proper media presence has been a minor cameo in Japanese manga as the kid sister of the Dinobots and a supporting role in Rescue Bots Academy.

Frankly becoming a Terran might be the best thing for Slash, and it’s something I’m surprised toy wise wasn’t attempted anyway with characters like Lightbright, Lickity Split, Rubble, Gauge, Nightscream, and others.

So once again, what comes next? We don’t know still as of typing. Skybound is still knocking it out of the park with its Energon Universe, with the Joe portion moving on to Destro and Scarlett after having wrapped up Cobra Commander’s miniseries. Of note on Destro is the possibility MASK might be getting another go again, as what appears to be Miles Mayhem, the leader of the villainous VENOM faction, makes an appearance. The MASK and VENOM teams tend to be depicted as off shoots of Joe and Cobra in modern material, and with the pitch of the EU mentioning Energon being able to power machines, the transforming vehicles might be among the first specially designed vehicles developed to combat the Decepticons… Especially since Destro took interest in the idea of a transforming jet when he learned of Starscream.

The next cartoon is being worked on now, but we don’t know yet what it is. The easiest assumption is it’s a spin off of TFONE like how Mutant Mayhem has Tales of the TMNT, but it may be something else altogether. Barring anything TFONE does, EarthSpark was the last hold out of IDW’s post war ideas, and with Autobot Megatron mark II being viewed like this:

I think Autobot Megatron is largely done as a concept and with how merciless Skybound Megs is shown to be (though interestingly he did spare some Cobra-La guys when they told him what he wanted to know after stepping on one), I think we’re gonna be back to a traditional Megatron.

People are still not really feeling TFONE via recent upload on a TF fan convention YouTube channel, calling it terrible and cringey, so at this point I’m honestly just writing it off now (even though I’ll personally like it fine like the new Garfield Movie).

I stand by a new TF anime with a fun Mini-Con like gimmick built in the story is the way to go, because this incessant need to reject its toyetic roots is aggravating. At this stage I say let Skybound do the comics, and let Japan handle the cartoon, because clearly most people working now can’t write a decent TF cartoon without getting out of their sanctimonious way.

It’s time to Transform and Rise Up from this nonsense, and hopefully One helps with that more, but atm it’s all on Skybound until the next cartoon is ready. No pressure.

[elizabethrobertajones]

5 and 11 :)

How do they feel about Wuk Lamat looking up to them as a mentor figure? Did this attitude change as the story progressed?

Frog's ended up with a LOT of mentees over time, from one off moments being shadowed for an afternoon in one discipline or another, to realising she's sort of accidentally helped shaped the twins' entire personalities for better or worse (moooostly better).

Wuk Lamat showed up at a good time when there was room for her emotionally and also time to care about such things. I think Frog was already drilling her on axe technique while she was still loitering around Sharlayan.

She wasn't quite so certain about the political side of things because she knew so little about Tural and knows how wobbly politics can be even when you feel like you're on the right side, so she was holding off any judgement about how Wuk Lamat really fit into all that until they got out there and had a lay of the land, and also she was banning Alphy from pontificating too much on the situation before he knew more XD She seemed far more frightened than she was letting on, and Frog couldn't tell if that was just Being A Teenager And Untested, or if there was some great evil lurking at the heart of all this that Wuk Lamat couldn't face alone or mention and the situation was much more dire than anyone was saying (Erenville being unreadable was completely unhelpful).

Once she'd met Gulool Ja Ja, Frog understood things a lot better and knew she just needed to impart the WoL magic sauce to Wuk Lamat and was really impressed that in many early situations she already seemed to know the right answer even if she wasn't confident in it (since we started with the Laser Eye Bird Boat). That made it a lot easier to just relax into the contest and lead by example of having fun and being yourself, mostly to help Wuk Lamat get over the yips rather than teach her anything substantial, because it was clear to Frog she had the right path already and just needed to be pushed onto it when she was uncertain, and courage in her convictions.

What was their initial impression of Sphene? How did this change as the story progressed?

.... does anyone have a WoL who didn't immediately distrust her? Listen to Alisaie :P

Once Frog got to understand the Endless concept she was immediately suspicious that it was what Sphene was since she was behaving so inhumanly (walking about in the pouring rain in a little shiny dress) and unaccompanied when there were beafts out there. And she had no retainers or obvious second in command, whereas every leader Frog's ever met who was worth anything had a squad of guys with personalities following behind them, guarding them and both advising them and letting them bounce ideas off them, as well as enacting their whims for them. Like. Normal human need for other people.

Sphene was obviously involved in her people's lives but she was doing it all by herself, like, individual house visits? The way she was a single shining saintly figure was so incredibly suspicious. Frog was worrying the regulators were doing some sort of mass mind control to keep everyone complacent and besotted with their ruler, at first, and then once she realised she was an Endless, she knew it was more that she was a mascot and the face of a much larger, worse thing: a terrible system that had all the living humans in its grasp. Oh well! there's always a trial named after the expansion! :)

I think part of her post-MSQ to do list is to read up on the historical Sphene and get a better idea of who she had been before, because she wants to know more about the actual person who she only saw little glimpses of, and historical Alexandria is really interesting, especially after seeing so many recreations of it and glimpses of what it had been, compared to the society in Solution 9. It's all SO weird even after the cyberpunk stuff and high technology she's already seen.

[theautisticdoctor]

Entry #004

Schema therapy

I love schematics. I love making and filling out schemata. I therefore use the theory of schema therapy a lot, and integrated dialectical behavioral and acceptance-commitment therapy as well.

It really helped me to figure out how much masking I was actually doing and creates some backbone to create alternative ways to healthy unmask and get support. So to help you understand what I’m talking about, I’m writing out the theory down below.

If you want to figure out what maladaptive schemata you have, you can fill out the Young Schema Questionnaire (YSQ-L3 or YSQ-S3 – long or short form)

Schemata

There are 18 early maladaptive schemata that people can have developed during their childhood and adolescence. They get developed by basic emotional needs that did not get met. It’s also really based on personality and temperament if and how a schema gets developed and coped with.

Abandonment

Mistrust and Abuse

Emotional Deprivation

Defectiveness and Shame

Social Isolation

Dependence and Incompetence

Vulnerability to Harm and Illness

Enmeshment and Undeveloped Self

Failure

Entitlement and Grandiosity

Insufficient Self-Control and Self-Discipline

Subjugation

Self-Sacrifice

Approval and Recognition Seeking

Negativity and Pessimism

Emotional Inhibition (Emotional Constriction and Fear of Losing Control)

Unrelenting Standards and Hypercriticalness

Punitiveness (Punitiveness to Others and Punitiveness to Self)

The schema “Emotional Inhibition” can be split up into “Emotional Constriction” and “Fear of Losing Control”, just like schema “Punitiveness” can be split up into “Punitiveness to Others” and “Punitiveness to Self”. This got proposed by Yalcin in 2021 in his paper (Yalcin, O., Marais, I., Lee, C., & Correia, H. (2021). Revisions to the Young Schema Questionnaire using Rasch analysis: the YSQ-R. Australian Psychologist, 57(1), 8–20. https://doi.org/10.1080/00050067.2021.1979885). You can fill out their revised schema questionnaire to make the distinction between those with the YSQ-R.

And now..

You can create a model of your schemas in how much they affect you. This is my model:

I use this model in my trigger schema to identify unhealthy or unhelpful behaviour. Because most of the time when I get triggered, one of my schemas gets triggered as well. This has led me into masking my autistic symptoms or tendencies, but isn’t necessarily helping me to have a balanced lifestyle. I will explain the trigger schema another time.

There are three coping styles or strategies to each schema, surrendering, overcompensation and/or avoidance. For these coping styles we have modi, which helps us give insight into what we feel and think and how we behave. But more on that another time.

Explanation per schema

Down here I’ve put the explanations per schema. The explanations are mainly taken directly from the book Schema Therapy: A Practioner’s Guide, and I slightly modified it in some parts, which is written in italics (Young, J. E., Klosko, J. S., & Weishaar, M. E. (2003). Schema therapy: A Practitioner’s Guide. Guilford Press. p. 14 - 17.).

Abandonment and Instability

The perceived instability or unreliability of those available for support and connection. Involves the sense that significant others will not be able to continue providing emotional support, connection, strength, or practical protection because they are emotionally unstable and unpredictable (e.g., have angry outbursts), unreliable, or present only erratically; because they will die imminently; or because they will abandon the individual in favor of someone better.

Mistrust and Abuse

The expectation that others will hurt, abuse, humiliate, cheat, lie, manipulate, or take advantage. Usually involves the perception that the harm is intentional or the result of unjustified and extreme negligence. May include the sense that one always ends up being cheated relative to others or “getting the short end of the stick.”

Emotional Deprivation

The expectation that one’s desire for a normal degree of emotional support will not be adequately met by others. The three major forms of deprivation are:

Deprivation of Nurturance: Absence of attention, affection, warmth, or companionship.

Deprivation of Empathy: Absence of understanding, listening, self-disclosure, or mutual sharing of feelings from others.

Deprivation of Protection: Absence of strength, direction, or guidance from others.

Defectiveness and Shame

The feeling that one is defective, bad, unwanted, inferior, or invalid in important respects or that one would be unlovable to significant others if exposed. May involve hypersensitivity to criticism, rejection, and blame; self-consciousness, comparisons, and insecurity around others; or a sense of shame regarding one’s perceived flaws. These flaws may be private (e.g., selfishness, angry impulses, unacceptable sexual desires) or public (e.g., undesirable physical appearance, social awkwardness).

Social Isolation and Alienation

The feeling that one is isolated from the rest of the world, different from other people, and/or not part of any group or community.

Dependence and Incompetence

Belief that one is unable to handle one’s everyday responsibilities in a competent manner, without considerable help from others (e.g., take care of oneself, solve daily problems, exercise good judgment, tackle new tasks, make good decisions). Often presents as helplessness.

Vulnerability to Harm or Illness

Exaggerated fear that imminent catastrophe will strike at any time and that one will be unable to prevent it. Fears focus on one or more of the following:

Medical catastrophes (e.g., heart attacks, AIDS)

Emotional catastrophes (e.g., going crazy)

External catastrophes (e.g., elevators collapsing, victimization by criminals, airplane crashes, earthquakes).

Enmeshment and Undeveloped Self

Excessive emotional involvement and closeness with one or more significant others (often parents) at the expense of full individuation or normal social development. Often involves the belief that at least one of the enmeshed individuals cannot survive or be happy without the constant support of the other. May also include feelings of being smothered by or fused with others or insufficient individual identity. Often experienced as a feeling of emptiness and foundering, having no direction, or in extreme cases questioning one’s existence. Also includes parentification to siblings.

Failure

The belief that one has failed, will inevitably fail, or is fundamentally inadequate relative to one’s peers in areas of achievement (school, career, sports, etc.). Often involves beliefs that one is stupid, inept, untalented, lower in status, less successful than others, and so forth.

Entitlement and Grandiosity

The belief that one is superior to other people; entitled to special rights and privileges; or not bound by the rules of reciprocity that guide normal social interaction. Often involves insistence that one should be able to do or have whatever one wants, regardless of what is realistic, what others consider reasonable, or the cost to others; or an exaggerated focus on superiority (e.g., being among the most successful, famous, wealthy) in order to achieve power or control (not primarily for attention or approval). Sometimes includes excessive competitiveness toward or domination of others: asserting one’s power, forcing one’s point of view, or controlling the behavior of others in line with one’s own desires without empathy or concern for others’ needs or feelings.

Also includes the feeling that one is responsible for things one is actually not really responsible for or can be held accountable to. The feeling that one should always be the one to help, e.g., because of the assumption that others will not step up to it.

Insufficient Self-Control and Self-Discipline

Pervasive difficulty or refusal to exercise sufficient self-control and frustration tolerance to achieve one’s personal goals or to restrain the excessive expression of one’s emotions and impulses. In its milder form, the patient presents with an exaggerated emphasis on discomfort avoidance: avoiding pain, conflict, confrontation, responsibility, or overexertion at the expense of personal fulfillment, commitment, or integrity.

When people are very punitive and have unrealistic standards, they often think they have this schema as well. Except they actually are having such high expectations of themselves that it is practically impossible to meet them (all). Then, they don’t actually have this schema, but rather only have hypercriticalness and punitiveness as schemata.

Subjugation

Excessive surrendering of control to others because one feels coerced — submitting in order to avoid anger, retaliation, or abandonment. The two major forms of subjugation are:

Subjugation of needs: Suppression of one’s preferences, decisions, and desires.

Subjugation of emotions: Suppression of emotions, especially anger.

Usually involves the perception that one’s own desires, opinions, and feelings are not valid or important to others. Frequently presents as excessive compliance, combined with hypersensitivity to feeling trapped. Generally leads to a buildup of anger, manifested in maladaptive symptoms (e.g., passive–aggressive behavior, uncontrolled outbursts of temper, psychosomatic symptoms, withdrawal of affection, “acting out,” substance abuse).

Self-Sacrifice

Excessive focus on voluntarily meeting the needs of others in daily situations at the expense of one’s own gratification. The most common reasons are: to prevent causing pain to others; to avoid guilt from feeling selfish; or to maintain the connection with others perceived as needy. Often results from an acute sensitivity to the pain of others. Sometimes leads to a sense that one’s own needs are not being adequately met and to resentment of those who are taken care of. (Overlaps with concept of codependency.)

Approval-Seeking and Recognition-Seeking

Excessive emphasis on gaining approval, recognition, or attention from other people or on fitting in at the expense of developing a secure and true sense of self. One’s sense of esteem is dependent primarily on the reactions of others rather than on one’s own natural inclinations. Sometimes includes an overemphasis on status, appearance, social acceptance, money, or achievement as means of gaining approval, admiration, or attention (not primarily for power or control). Frequently results in major life decisions that are inauthentic or unsatisfying or in hypersensitivity to rejection.

Negativity and Pessimism

A pervasive, lifelong focus on the negative aspects of life (pain, death, loss, disappointment, conflict, guilt, resentment, unsolved problems, potential mistakes, betrayal, things that could go wrong, etc.) while minimizing or neglecting the positive or optimistic aspects. Usually includes an exaggerated expectation — in a wide range of work, financial, or interpersonal situations — that things will eventually go seriously wrong or that aspects of one’s life that seem to be going well will ultimately fall apart. Usually involves an inordinate fear of making mistakes that might lead to financial collapse, loss, humiliation, or being trapped in a bad situation. Because they exaggerate potential negative outcomes, these individuals are frequently characterized by chronic worry, vigilance, complaining, or indecision.

Emotional Inhibition (“Emotional Constriction” and “Fear of Losing Control”)

The excessive inhibition of spontaneous action, feeling, or communication, usually to avoid disapproval by others, feelings of shame, or losing control of one’s impulses. The most common areas of inhibition involve:

Inhibition of anger and aggression

Inhibition of positive impulses (e.g., joy, affection, sexual excitement, play)

Difficulty expressing vulnerability or communicating freely about one’s feelings, needs, and so forth

Excessive emphasis on rationality while disregarding emotions.

“Emotional Constriction” and “Fear of Losing Control” as two different schemata can be explained as an over-control to shame or embarrassment to show emotions and as an anxiety to not being able to control or contain the emotions or consequences and/or impulses following the emotions.

Unrelenting Standards and Hypercriticalness

The underlying belief that one must strive to meet very high internalized standards of behavior and performance, usually to avoid criticism. Typically results in feelings of pressure or difficulty slowing down and in hypercriticalness toward oneself and others. Must involve significant impairment in pleasure, relaxation, health, self-esteem, sense of accomplishment, or satisfying relationships.

Unrelenting standards typically present as

Perfectionism, inordinate attention to detail, or an underestimate of how good one’s own performance is relative to the norm

Rigid rules and “shoulds” in many areas of life, including unrealistically high moral, ethical, cultural, or religious precepts

Preoccupation with time and efficiency, the need to accomplish more.

Punitiveness (“Punitiveness to Others” and “Punitiveness to Self”)

The belief that people should be harshly punished for making mistakes. Involves the tendency to be angry, intolerant, punitive, and impatient with those people (including oneself) who do not meet one’s expectations or standards. Usually includes difficulty forgiving mistakes in oneself or others because of a reluctance to consider extenuating circumstances, allow for human imperfection, or empathize with feelings.

[skaruresonic]

Can you do an analysis on shadow's line in battle where he says "if the world wants peace they'll have to destroy us first" ?

Sorry for the delay; I'm pretty sure I've discussed this particular scene before but since Tumblr's search system is massively unhelpful, naturally I can't link you to the post. So we'll be looking at it again :P

This time I'll be relying on TheSinnerChrono's transcript of the game instead of screenshots because this post would otherwise become way too long and unruly. Here's the link:

Sonic Battle - Game Script - Game Boy Advance - By mtkennerly - GameFAQs (gamespot.com)

---

First thing to note is that Shadow is experiencing a lot of internal conflict about being a weapon of war vs. being an autonomous being with a heart and mind of his own.

The way this conflict presents itself is via stubborn denial for much of his story. Shadow tends to reject emotion for the most part, considering it weakness, but for a few notable exceptions.

When he encounters Sonic for the first time, Shadow's story noticeably omits his demand that Sonic hand over Emerl and the ensuing fight, in the usual Rashomon style these Adventure-era games tend to tell their stories with.

However, Sonic's "He's at Tails' place" and "Why are you after him, anyway?" imply this is not the first time he's pursued Emerl. I would argue that this omission fits Shadow's general trend of denial.

What we get from here is an interesting back-and-forth between Sonic and Shadow about the Chaos Emeralds, the Gizoid, and whether "weapons" have hearts.

I find this conversation interesting, and not just because it's the polar opposite of the scene in IDW 6. It's interesting in that it's a rare occasion where Shadow and Sonic bandy words without devolving into a physical fight, and those words furthermore tackle some pretty heavy concepts of identity, power, and war.

Especially war.

Battle's anti-war message is about as subtle as a tire iron to the face. While SA2 only alluded to cultural fears of WMGs with its hint-dropping about the development of the Eclipse Cannon, Battle takes the ball and runs with it, making not only Emerl but Shadow question their very identities as instruments of destruction. And then furthermore has the other characters wax poetic about it.

Worth noting as well that Sonic's insistence that Shadow has a heart matches Shadow's vehement denial of that very concept, leading to a stalemate where Sonic surprisingly relents Emerl. Shadow wore him down with his angsty emo shit lol.

The stark difference in Sonic and Shadow's mindsets becomes clear when you consider their word choice. Shadow strictly calls Emerl's power "power," while Sonic calls the power bestowed by all seven Emeralds "unlimited energy":

Shadow: "Right now, its true power lies dormant."

Sonic: "I've heard that he who collects 7 'Chaos Emeralds' will be granted unlimited energy."

To Sonic, this energy is morally neutral. It is not inherently destructive. His wording reflects not only his thinking, but his personal experiences in wielding Chaos Emerald energy for good.

Shadow, however, deems the pursuit of power an inherent path to ruin, tainted by mankind's thirst for war. As a living manifestation of that desire - or so he thinks - he insists on dehumanizing himself. Numbing the part of himself that feels and cares is the only way his conscience will stop screaming at him.

As has been pointed out numerous times before, this scene directly contradicts the moment in IDW 6 where Sonic brings up Shadow's past sins in order to win the argument about Mr. Tinker:

Instead, we have Sonic arguing for Shadow's heart, as well as the idea that Shadow once acted for the good of humanity and can do it again.

The real irony here is that Battle!Sonic is actually being a little bit of that bleeding-heart "everyone is good deep down" moral champion IDW fans think IDW!Sonic is, what with his whole spiel about "if you have a heart, there's no way you could use your power for the forces of evil."

The important caveats to keep in mind, however, are that:

A.) Sonic has seen proof of Shadow's heart for himself; he doesn't make his argument despite a lack of evidence, unlike Eggman, for whose supposed "goodness" he struggles to think of a single example. He clearly states "Maybe you've forgotten, but I seem to recall you saving humanity at some point." So his argument is not just him blowing flower petals up Shadow's ass - it's grounded in fact. Whether or not Shadow wants to face those facts lies on Shadow.

And B.) Sonic is probably waxing poetic this hard because Shadow's being equally stubborn in insisting that he's just a tool of destruction. His self-dehumanization, in fact, appears to disturb Sonic in a way we seldom see in other games:

Sonic suggests Shadow and Emerl play some games together. Shit's probably getting too heavy for him and he's getting freaked out, in addition to simply wanting Shadow to wisen up.

Shadow regularly says stuff like "Weapons have no need for a conscience" and "There's no need for a weapon to have feelings," and it's clear the so-called "weapon of war" doth protest too much. He wouldn't be pointing out the folly of Real Boy Feelings(tm) if on some level he wasn't suffering the cognitive dissonance of having them. His disgust at Emerl acknowledging his own capacity for feeling joy and friendship at the end of his story pretty much confirms this.

But even more interesting than that is his dour outlook on humanity: he feels it's a given that mankind must destroy the instruments of its own destruction if it ever wants peace. That it's a weapon's fate to be used and discarded precisely because, in his misanthropic view, humanity is foolish, belligerent, and greedy:

However, despite Shadow's brooding observations, the scene ends on a lighthearted note, with Sonic laughing "Some ultimate weapon you are!" in Emerl's wake:

[oh-shtars]

Bonjour, good day, I come with more questions~

1. What Disney character do you think most inspired each character in your rewrite?

2. More Rani loreeee

3. Does Rani have star magic? Although feel free to skip this as it might spoil your ending with Sueño

4. Does Hopes & Dreams have any other pet names for each other?

5. If Ashueño is similar to a genderbent Rapunzel, what dynamic is the royal couple like?

6. What trope best fits Hopes & Dreams? What about the royal couple?

7. Do you have any scrapped ideas you want to share?

8. Are the other character’s wishes important to the story?

9. What Hazbin character is each RFTS!character like?

Oh wow-

I get so happy whenever you guys leave asks and stuff like this. Thanks so much! 🥺💖💖 LOVE YA BO!

If y’all ever send me an ask and I haven’t answered it yet, please know I’m not ignoring you. I either don’t know how to answer it yet or I’m too busy atm. (Especially with exams coming up. Ew.)

(Looking at this, I feel more guilty the more they stay there. 😅 But hey! At least you can look forward to more content, right?)

Anyways, Onto the asks!

1. What Disney character do you think most inspired each character in your rewrite?

I remember doing this one post as a little fun game for everyone to share 3 characters that inspired their main characters. But since you asked for just one and it has to be a Disney character, guess I’ll do that.

You can visit the post if you want to see mine and other AUs’ participation.

Asha = Belle (Beauty and the Beast)

Sueño = Aladdin

Magnifico = Hades (Hercules)

Amaya = Zarina (Tinkerbell: The Pirate Fairy)

Valentino = Younger Simba (The Lion King)

(I don’t have a solid personality for the 7 teens since they’re not going to have as big of a role. I do have their key traits in my notes so I can look back to it as a guide. But I’m just going to go with the flow when writing their scenes.)

……..

2. More Rani Loreeeeee

I haven’t even finished a final outline for the main plot of the RFTS!story, so idk even for a sequel. Maybe I’ll do some random drawings of family bonding moments and just him being a precious little guy.

(Hypothetically speaking, IF both Asha and Sueño survive the tragedy I’ll inflict on them. I mean what- who said that?)

All I know for Rani is that he’s someone who’s not sure what is the one thing he’s passionate for. And in this kingdom where everyone is so sure what they want and striving to achieve it, he feels lost. Surely, people only have one passion, right? Why can’t he find and settle for one?

Whenever he finds something he could be passionate about, Rani feels icky at the thought of just permanently sticking to it from now on. But at the same time, he criticises himself for being ‘irresponsible and indecisive.’

He “longs” to know his place and know what he wishes to do exactly. Rani doesn’t like being told, “But you’re so talented!!” because he personally thinks it’s unhelpful. It doesn’t make his choice of picking one passion any easier.

He also doesn’t really like vague answers to his questions and gets frustrated with it. “Believe in yourself.” “You’ll get there.” “Keep going!” “You’ll know it when you feel it.” “I don’t know what you’re aspiring to do, but I bet you’ll do great.” Well guess what? He doesn’t know what he’s doing either. :D

Also: *G A S P*. Not a strong believer of Wishing stars nor looking to the sky for answers! 😱 Rani prefers to “see-it-to-believe-it.” A more down to earth person who wants real solutions, not just hoping for something to magically happen.

(Some stuff might change but here’s an overview of Rani just like you asked- :))

…………

3. Does Rani have star magic?

Ehhhhh, I’ll say he has general knowledge in magic and just about anything he finds interesting and gets his hands on. Not really star magic, though he has the skill of a fast-learner when learning about regular magic. Again, Rani’s existence may or may not be hypothetical. 🤷

………

4. Does Hopes & Dreams have any other pet names for each other?

Sueño is not really one for pet names since he adores Asha just as she is, including her name. But in his head and through the sign language he eventually learns, he does sometimes call her: “Love or My Sky”

(I love “My Sky” so much because it FITS him. He loves the feeling of freedom and is claustrophobic. So he’s basically saying he feels so free and happy to be around her. Also, *coughs* Bo. “Sky”. My Sky. “Cielo”. Amirite? This was unintentional, I swear-)

For Asha, she calls Sueño: “Starlight, Mi Sueño (this is her fav one ofc), Sunny (though this is more general), Hon/Honey.”

For the last one, I have a silly headcanon that Sueño comes to have honey as one of his fav foods. It sort of rhymes with his other nickname, “Sunny,” and Asha thinks it’s hilarious to tease him with the “honey” nickname when he gets all sticky.

Idk why I even came up with this, but the thought that he’ll eat anything, even food he usually doesn’t like, that is dipped in honey on it is just funny, okay? And it connects to Hal too since I remember she’s meant to be a beekeeper. (This may also be a cute little reference with Winnie the Pooh if Sueño shapeshifts. Hehehe)

Btw, stars can taste but not go hungry. Like how they touch and feel stuff but not feel pain when inflicted or hit by something. If it’s dark magic, then that’s the only exception and they can feel pain.

…….

5. If Ashueño is similar to a genderbent Rapunzel, what dynamic is the royal couple like?

Idk actually. I made Amnifico or ‘Grand Despair’ from scratch without referring or getting inspired by any couple I know. It’s mostly songs and vibes I’ve collected to create their dynamic. Same with Ashueño. The Rapunzel similarity was not intentional. 😅

(I think you should be worried because my RFTS!Spotify playlist has lots of angst- lol.)

Uhhhhhhh, maybe Grand Despair can be something akin to Charity and P.T Barnum from the Greatest Showman. But darker and eviler.

A guy who promises something for his beloved, gets carried away, and eventually forgetting what this was all for in the first place. :3

……

6. What trope best fits Hopes and Dreams? What about the royal couple?

Hopes and Dreams:

“Soulmates/Fate” (I think we can all agree that these two are meant to be, either platonically or romantically, in any universe both AU and Canon.)

👏 SLOW 👏 BURN👏 (That pang of realisation always gets me)

Thinks she’s no one special x Treats her like royalty

Grand Despair:

Doomed Romance

Pissy x Only one who calms him down

”Us against the World”

……….

7. Do you have any scrapped ideas you want to share?

Not anything that wouldn’t spoil some stuff for the plot. Sorry 😞

……

8. Are the other characters’ wishes important to the story?

Hmmmmm. I guess they influence the narrative and further establish the conflict of the story.

Like, the characters are used to just taking the easy way to achieve their dreams by waiting for the day Magnifico grants them one morning. They can make as much as they want. Unbeknownst to them, they’re stuck in this cycle of always wanting more but never satisfied.

They keep wishing and wishing, believing that they have no chance of reaching it on their own without their king’s help.

I’d like the main theme to be: not being afraid to dream big and “Reach for the Stars” but you shouldn’t expect grand things to just come to you instantly. You’ll need to take faith and work for it. Why? Because the whole journey getting there, regardless of the many struggles, is worth it and it sure is something to look back and be proud of.

It sure is what Walt Disney did, isn’t it? :)

……..

9. What Hazbin character is each RFTS!character like?

It’s kind of difficult to pick from the Hazbin cast what each RFTS!character is like since one plot is based off of dreams and everything nice while the other is literally based in hell. 😂

But I’ll try:

Asha:

Emily was the closest I could think of. (Since I literally couldn’t think of anyone else. Oof-) Not really referring to the happy, excited part of her. More like the “I believe these people deserve a lot better than this” and eventually finding her voice to stand up against authority for the people she cares about.

Sueño:

No, not the aggressive and assertive side of Vaggie. Lol nope. More like getting attached to the MC that helped them get back onto their feet, warmly welcomed them in this strange new world, and now they would do anything to help them get their dreams come true whatever it takes.

(Also, a secret they’re keeping that’s eating them up inside with guilt and constantly worrying that the MC would hate their guts if they knew. Oops-)

Magnifico:

I’d say the fake-ass showmanship he puts out in public but in reality, he’s really done and exhausted with his audience. He’s still pretty charismatic when he wants to be but I can see him losing his cool quite easily, leading to outbursts.

Amaya:

Idkkkk. The main cast of Hazbin don’t really fit RFTS!Amaya’s vibe so I just went with Lilith despite how we know nothing about her at the moment. (This is probs gonna age badly-)

She’s a parental figure to someone who trusts her a lot but in reality, her motivations might not be what they seem. She could be willing to sacrifice other people if it means she gets a benefit out of them.