wrenisrad

[wrenisrad]

acotar boys as dads (super self-indulgent) 🤍✨

rhysand: boy dad, is the first in the group to become a dad. always wanted to be a dad but was not in any kind of rush. teaches his sons to respect women, starting with their mother. the king of boundaries— he teaches his kids to have boundaries and also respects them. if his kids don't want to hug you he won't force them to (but he will ask them why later) plays rough with his boys, he's like a kid when he's playing with them, likes being outside a lot. takes his boys hiking, to play sports, swimming, etc. cries when they achieve literally anything— from standing on their own to graduating college, rhys is there beaming with pride and crying

cassian: twin dad for sure— a boy and a girl. carries both of his kids at the same time even when they are 'too old to be carried" (no such thing, according to him). extremely cuddly with both his kids and with his wife. ceo of teaching his son it's okay to cry ("just look at your uncle rhys"). sits both his kids on his lap and feeds them from his own plate. double stroller daddy™. does that thing where he carries his kids and his wife and runs around the room (dad zoomies).

azriel: definitely a girl dad. "my dad can kick your dad's butt" "damn straight." (honey don't curse in front of the baby). you beef with his little girl, you beef with him. picks flowers for his wife and for his daughter. set daddy-daughter dates every month (set mommy-daddy dates weekly). secretly a huge fan of matching family outfits. Never smiles for pictures unless it's with his family. his daughter sleeps on his chest (it has been that way since she was born). talked to her all throughout the pregnancy. literally cannot say no to his girls.

lucien: never really wanted kids— and then he met his wife, then he wanted everything with her. doesn't really have a preference (boy or girl) he just wants a baby with his love. so incredibly gentle with his kids, just as he is with his wife. he is the kind of dad that loves his kids with his whole heart because he loved their mother that way first. goes to every single event (absent father syndrome (cries)) no matter what. lets his kids fall asleep on the bed with him when he gets home from work, but carries them to their room so he can love up on his wife.

eris: girl dad all the way. loves his wife so much (literally can't get enough of her) so he ends up with like six daughters, and it is his literal dream come true. his wife is his best friend, and he is just so openly in love with her (sigh) his girls grow up with incredibly high standards. he brushes their hair (every single one of them, it's a long process). shared with them his love of dogs so now his home is filled with love, laughs, barks, and tiny pink bows. makes them pancakes every saturday morning. cries at their dance recitals (but he's discreet about it). ties seven pairs of shoes every day and he is living the life. smiles when he thinks about his girls randomly throughout the day

fw ver. 🤍

[wrenisrad]

Me and you 😔✊

I took your quiz and got perses??? Apparently he's at a zero percent get rate...am I...the chosen one?

Damn right — you and @jon-snows-man-bun are Perses's most special girls

[wrenisrad]

Words cannot express how excited I am about this

Warm weather and bright sunshine is coming 🔆🌼

See you in July!

[wrenisrad]

This article title makes me giggle if anyone cares

[wrenisrad]

@prythianpages @tadpolesonalgae @daycourtofficial @itsswritten @illyrianbitch

Me when my fav fanfic writer posts another banger

[wrenisrad]

bringing up baby 3

remus lupin x whimsical fem!reader | Buttoned-up grad student Remus Lupin has the rare chance to work under one of the top scholars in the country. But his carefully laid plans keep getting derailed by the scholar's free-spirited whirlwind of a daughter who seems determined to unravel both his plans and his sanity.

upcoming content: FLUFF!! YEARNING!! mean boy (not remus, duh), protective remmy!

authors note: PART 3! my favorite part yet!!!! i really really hope you like it :')

word count: 3.5k

series masterlist | masterlist

tagging (pls lmk if you do or do not want to be tagged): @wrenisrad @daydreamandforget @jamesweather @oldhollywoodniall @sillygirlantics @shipwreckedlor @slutfortheblog @rulesareshadesofgrey @lettertovera @knew-better-forever-girl-two @siriusement

Over the past month, you and Remus had grown… quite close. Friends.

You showed up during most of his shifts with a new book in hand, the bookmark always tucked somewhere within the first dozen pages. You claimed the office was just better for reading. Remus always rolled his eyes and gave you a warning not to bother him. You always ignored it.

Within half an hour, the book was forgotten and you were crouched beside him, helping wrangle the more uncooperative volumes and telling him stories about your father that made Remus question everything he thought he knew about his boss. He still couldn’t quite picture Professor Binns in a pair of glitter wings and a tutu, but you swore up and down it had happened. “No one had shown up to my party, which was fine, I didn’t very much like those girls anyway. But all I wanted was a fairy princess there!”

In return, Remus humored you with stories about his own life — James’ latest disaster meal, Sirius’ deeply questionable fashion experiments, how their 50 year old neighbor always made eyes at Sirius in the laundry room. You laughed at all of them, sometimes too hard, and occasionally took notes in the margins of whatever book you were pretending to read.

You left a mess wherever you went. Crumpled wrappers, ribbons, feathers, a single sock (when you took off your shoe, he never knows) all part of your wake. You always conviently left before cleanup, leaving Remus to spend an extra fifteen minutes tidying up after you.

It was a mess. And Remus hated mess.

Except… he’d sort of gotten used to it. Used to you.

Which was why, when he hadn’t seen you all day, something in his chest had curled in on itself a little. He decided to ignore it. Probably just his chronic pain acting up again — it had been a rough morning, the kind that settled in his joints like damp in the walls. Bad enough that he’d asked Binns if he could go home early. He originally tried to push through, but Binns had taken one look at him fumbling to shelve a dictionary and called him over.

“You don’t need to be a martyr to the archive. Go home. Rest. These dusty old things will still be misbehaving tomorrow.”

Remus had protested, of course, but Binns just waved a hand like he was swatting away a fly.

So, with his tail between his legs, though admittedly with less guilt than usual, Remus packed up early.

By the time Remus stepped outside, the sun was high and obnoxiously golden, casting long shadows across the path. He squinted against it, adjusting the strap of his satchel on his shoulder as he fished his phone from his coat pocket.

“Hey,” he said when James picked up on the second ring.

“Oi! You live!” James replied. “Did the books finally stage a coup?”

“Not today,” Remus muttered, beginning the slow walk down the steps in front of the building. “I’m heading out early. Can you come get me?”

There was a beat of silence. “Wait, really? You? Leaving voluntarily? Who are you and what have you done with my best mate?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Don’t make a thing of it.”

“Is this about your knees? I told you to try that stuff I gave you, but nooo—”

“Yes, it’s about my knees, and no, I’m not taking a mystery ‘potion’ Lils got from a guy named Topher.”

“Topher’s legit! He has a table at the farmer’s market.”

“James.”

“Okay, okay,” James relented. “I’m finishing up at the gym. I can be there in twenty.”

Remus nodded, then realized James couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I’ll wait out front.”

Just as he was about to hang up, something caught his eye.

Someone.

Lying in the grass just past the footpath, familiar skirt, familiar hair, very much not reading.

Remus hung up without saying goodbye and already began veering off course.

You were lying in the grass, long white skirt fanned around you like a picnic blanket, sparkly vest top catching the light as you rifled through clumps of clover. From a distance, Remus thought you might be napping, but as he got closer, he saw the intense concentration on your face. You were definitely looking for something.

Remus, phone still in hand, stopped at the edge of the grass. “Am I interrupting a turf war?”

You looked up and grinned like you’d been expecting him. “Remus! Excellent. You can help me greet the fairies.”

He stared. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t just say things like that with no context.”

You patted the grass beside you. “Oh, come on. The fairies are shy. They’ll be more likely to show themselves if you look approachable.”

“I’m wearing proper trousers,” he said, gesturing at himself, “and I’m very tired.”

“You’re always tired,” you said cheerfully. “That’s no excuse.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Remus dropped to his knees beside you. “I swear, if something bites me again, I’m filing a report.”

“You’d have to report it to the fairies. They run the place.”

He glanced sideways at you. “You’re deranged.”

You just beamed at him. “That’s why you like me.”

Remus blinked, caught off guard.

“Please, Rem?”

You looked up at him expectantly, eyes squinting in the sunlight, lips curled in that familiar, self-satisfied smile that always seemed to know more than it let on. The sun lit up the fine edges of your hair like gold leaf, casting your whole face in a glow that was frankly unfair. Remus stared for a moment too long, something tugging in his chest before he shook his head, just a little, like he could knock the thought loose.

What was he, a crow? Drawn in by something shiny?

And yet, even as he thought it, he watched your smile stretch wider the slower he moved, like you’d known he’d give in all along. So with a sigh, equal parts fond and resigned, Remus was on his belly just like you were.

He squinted into the blades of grass, hands braced on either side of him, trying his best to make sense of whatever magical nonsense you’d pulled him into this time. Maybe if he stared hard enough, something would twitch, shimmer, fly away, anything!

But the grass remained stubbornly still.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low with concentration as he turned his head, “but what exactly am I supposed to be see—?”

You were already looking at him, chin propped in your hand, the sun catching in your hair and making your eyes look almost gold. He was squinting into the grass like it held secrets only he could decipher, jaw tight in concentration, and you felt something in your chest pull a little.

There was something unfair about how pretty he was when he was confused: soft and serious. You weren’t entirely sure when you’d started noticing things like that. Or when you’d started hoping he’d notice you noticing.

Remus blinked. “What?”

“I dropped my ring,” you said cheerfully. “Figured I’d have a better shot at finding it with your help.”

Remus reared back slightly. “You—you what? Then why did you tell me there were fairies down here?”

“Well, there could be fairies,” you said innocently, gesturing vaguely to the grass. “But not today. Not the season.”

“You had me lying in the grass in a dress shirt for no reason?”

“I had a reason,” you countered, nonchalantly plucking at a daisy. “And what’s so bad about a little grass stain? When’s the last time you let the sun hit your face, Gloomius Lupin?”

Remus stared at you for a beat, then groaned. “Okay. That’s it.”

He stood suddenly, brushing his trousers off, but made no move to leave. You raised an eyebrow just in time for him to dart forward with a mock-threatening glare. You shrieked and scrambled to your feet, laughing as you bolted.

“You can’t catch me, Lupin!”

“I shouldn’t have to catch you, you menace!”

You ran fast—too fast for someone who’d spent the morning sprawled in the grass like a cat in a sunbeam. Remus followed, but his body lagged behind, knees and hips groaning in protest. He pressed a hand to his side, willing the ache away.

You glanced back, eyes still bright with laughter, only to see him falter, pain pinching the corner of his mouth.

“Remus, are you alri-?”

You didn’t get to finish the thought. Your foot caught on a thick branch buried under leaves, and with a sharp yelp, you tumbled forward right into the pond with a dramatic splash.

Remus froze.

Then: “Oh, bloody hell.”

And he was wading in after you without a second thought.

When you resurfaced with a splash, sputtering pond water and hair sticking to your face, Remus was already wading in after you, shoes, satchel and all, like some kind of scholarly knight.

You blinked up at him, chest heaving, eyes wide at the sight before you: his button-down was soaked clean through, clinging to his arms and chest, and his slacks, well, what was left of them, were plastered to his thighs in a way that was somehow both hilarious and… unreasonably attractive.

It was, in all, a deeply stupid image. And yet you felt your heart kick a little, a lot.

“Remus, I’m so sorry,” you gasped, pushing wet strands of hair from your face. “I didn’t mean to—are you okay? You didn’t have to—”

He rolled his eyes, water sloshing around his knees.

“What?” you blinked at him, caught off guard by his flat expression.

Then, with great theatrical effort, he rolled his eyes again—bigger, slower this time, like he was trying to dislodge something behind them.

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a breath of laughter. “You’re such a brat.”

“I was lured into the grass under false fairy pretenses,” he replied dryly, pushing a wet sleeve out of his face. “I’m the victim here.”

You laughed, the sound ringing out across the water. “Come on, we can’t stay in here forever. The fish’ll get mad. Territorial little buggers.”

Together, you began trudging toward the bank. It was deeper than either of you expected, your clothes heavy with water, shoes squelching. Near the edge, you lifted your arms for balance, eyeing the embankment skeptically.

“It’s a bit of a leap,” you murmured, gauging the moss-slick edge.

Without a word, Remus stepped forward, one hand catching your elbow, the other settling at your waist.

It was meant to be practical, just a steadying gesture, but his hands lingered a moment longer than they needed to, and the world around you went quiet except for the sound of water dripping off both of you.

Your breath caught. His eyes met yours, and for the first time all day, there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or exasperation in them. Just that steady, serious warmth that always seemed to slip past your guard.

You swallowed. “Thanks,” you said softly.

His voice was quiet too. “Anytime.”

This moment was like something out of a painting, the dew drops dripping down his jagged cheeks. Or a scene in one of your books that had you giggling under the blankets. You were just about to speak when a voice rang out from the path.

“Well, this is rich,” Evan called, coming up the path with that ever-present smirk like he was the cleverest person in the room. “Didn’t think you’d fall for her tricks, Lupin.”

You froze where you were, hand still brushing pondweed from your arm. “Go away, Evan.”

But Remus stepped forward, sodden and rumpled, hair dripping into his collar. “What tricks?”

Evan gave a little laugh, like he was amused to be asked. “You know—her little spells. Acting like the world’s her stage and everyone’s meant to chase her around in it.” His eyes flicked to you. “She’s good at it. But you? I thought you’d be smarter.”

Your face burned, and you hated that it did. “Seriously, Evan. Go away.”

“Oh, come on.” Evan tilted his head, now all false sympathy. “It’s not personal. It never is. You get to be the favorite for a week or two—maybe a month if you're charming enough. Then she gets bored and forgets your name.”

Remus’s jaw tightened. “You really don’t know anything about her, do you?”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t I?”

Remus moved in front of you then, still dripping, still visibly aching, and yet somehow standing tall. “I like her,” he said, so plainly and without flourish it almost sounded like a fact. “She’s brilliant. And funny. And deeply weird. And she’s with me, so whatever petty little grudge you;ve got, take it elsewhere.”

Evan scoffed, clearly rattled. “Seriously? You?”

Remus didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Me.”

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“We will,” Remus said, and didn’t look away.

Evan hesitated, clearly not expecting that kind of calm, pointed finality. Then, for once, he didn’t have a comeback. He huffed out some vague, sour noise and walked off.

The second he was gone, the confidence in Remus’s posture deflated by half. “God,” he muttered, raking a hand through his wet hair. “What was that?”

You were still looking at him. Really looking at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Evan’s a real piece of work,” he muttered, flicking a bit of pondweed off his sleeve. “Nice to see him shut up for once. Even if it took a little lie.”

You glanced over at him, your voice light. “Right. Well. It worked.”

You tried to smile, and you did, sort of, just enough to hide the way your chest ached a little.

The two of you walked on in silence for a few beats, pond water squishing in your shoes.

Remus cleared his throat. “He is wrong, you know.”

You glanced over. “About what?”

“About you,” he said, almost shyly. “You don’t forget people. You care too much.”

That time, you really smiled. “Even when I leave socks in the office?”

He sighed. “Even then.”

As the two of you rounded the corner, Remus spotted James’s car parked a little crookedly in the staff lot, hazard lights blinking like it was an emergency. Through the windshield, James was very clearly staring, mouth slightly open, face twisted in something between alarm and intrigue.

Remus sighed. “That’s my friend. He’s going to kill me for getting pond water all over his precious leather seats.”

You followed his gaze, then turned back to him with a hopeful tilt to your voice. “You could ride with me instead? I don’t care if you ruin my seats. I mean, they’re already ruined from glitter and, like, snack crumbs,” you tapered off, crossing your fingers in your head.

Remus smiled, soft and crooked. “Tempting.”

Then, without thinking, he reached up, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. His touch was tentative at first, but he didn’t pull away. His thumb swept across your cheekbone, slow and deliberate, eyes following the motion like he needed an excuse to look at you this closely.

“You had a piece of grass,” he said quietly, almost like it was an afterthought.

“Oh,” you paused, “I’m sure our drains will be filled with it when we wash tonight,” you said.

Remus chuckled, “If my mates even let me in the door, they might just hose me off in the back garden.”

You laughed, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow. “Tell them it was for a noble cause. Fairy diplomacy and all.”

Remus huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes still on you. “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Monday,” you echoed, with a little nod.

He turned and walked to James who was still looking at him unblinkingly, he mentally prepared himself for the questioning that would undeniably come once he entered the car. His shoes squished with every step. His hair was dripping onto his nose. His cheeks ached from smiling.

He turned back just as you stepped toward him, wrapping your arms around his middle without hesitation. For a second, he froze, caught off guard.

And then his hands settled at your back, drawing you in. He was damp and still smelled faintly like pondwater and summer grass, and somehow it made the hug feel even more like him. Solid and real.

His cheek brushed your temple. Neither of you said anything.

When you finally pulled back, your smile was bright and a little breathless. “See you Monday.”

And then you turned, squelching off in your soaked shoes like he hadn’t just been dunked in water for the second time that day.

Remus barely got one leg in the car before James was twisting in his seat, eyes wide. “Remus! What the HELL happened to you?”

Remus exhaled, water immediately soaking into the fabric. “Hi, James.”

“You’re soaking! You look like you got mugged by a pond! Why are you-? What happened? Did someone push you? Was it that nasty geese that chased you in sixth year?!”

Remus scrubbed a hand over his face. “She said there were fairies.”

There was a beat.

“What? …Are we talking literal fairies or code for something weirdly academic?”

“Literal,” Remus said flatly. “Or not. Apparently not. She lost her ring.”

James blinked rapidly. “Okay, okay, back up. Start from the top. Fairies?”

“I was walking out. She was in the grass. Said I looked too serious and needed sunlight. Lured me down there under the pretense of fairies.”

James made a high-pitched noise. “She tricked you with fairies? You deserved to fall in the pond.”

“She tripped,” Remus muttered. “She fell first. I went in after.”

“Oh my god.” James grabbed the steering wheel for balance, like this story was physically too much for him. “You leapt into a pond for her. In work clothes. You’re gone. Absolutely gone.”

Remus looked out the window. “And then Evan showed up.”

“Oh great, what did that walnut have to say?”

“Said she does this to everyone. That I was just her newest toy.”

James’ eyebrows shot up. “Did you punch him? Please tell me you punched him.” You’d met James a few times and immediately took a friendly liking to each other. You liked watching him do rugby tricks, always clapping like an easily entertained toddler, or like a seal sometimes, Remus thought. James liked that you always smelled like strawberry syrup.

“No, I said…” Remus gulped, eyes fixed out the window, “I said she was with me.”

“You WHAT.”

“I told him we were together, alright? Just to get him to shut up.”

James actually gasped. “Remus John Lupin.”

Remus winced. “Please don’t say my full name.”

“That’s basically a confession,” James said, flailing a little. “You told Evan you were together! That’s like… relationship declaration level three! Do you know what I would've given for Lily to say something like that in public before year six?!”

“It wasn’t like that,” Remus muttered, cheeks warm. “I just wanted him to back off. She looked... he was getting to her.”

“And then she hugged you,” James said, steamrolling. “I saw that hug. That was not a 'thanks for getting rid of the jerk' hug. That was a lingering hug!”

Remus stared ahead. “You’re imagining things.”

James drove for a few meters, then lowered his voice, as he spoke sincerely, “No, mate. I’m not. You’ve been in that office together every day for what, six weeks? She brings snacks, she steals your pens, she makes you laugh out loud, which I didn’t think was possible outside of Marauder-related mayhem. She likes you.”

Remus stayed quiet.

“And when you're with her,” James continued, “you’re more like you. Like how you are with me and Padfoot and Lilykins.”

Remus groaned softly. “You’ve got to stop calling her that.”

“Never,” James said cheerfully, “She likes you. And I like that she makes you happy. Because you do this thing… this thing where you convince yourself you’re too much trouble to love, but I’ve known you for ten bloody years, and I’m telling you: you’re not.”

Remus felt himself wilt a tad, caught.

“So take the chance,” James said, a little softer. “I really think it’ll be better than you think. And I really mean that, because I haven’t yelled once about you soaking my seats in pond water.”

Remus exhaled a half-laugh, shaking his head. “Yet.”

James smirked, satisfied. “That’s the spirit.”

They lapsed into a more comfortable silence after that, the windows fogged slightly from their damp clothes and the fading sun bleeding gold across the dashboard.

Remus shifted, pulling his soaked coat tighter—then paused, fingers brushing something in the inside pocket.

He pulled it out: a tiny corked vial, the label written in your unmistakable handwriting.

“Takes away the pain :)”

Remus stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding quietly in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, you liked him back.

[wrenisrad]

SWIMMING | AZRIEL

SYN. a guide for idiots who are pining after someone who wishes not to be pined.

CW. small time skip. suggestive. groveling and so much more. pining. love in the most toxic way. slight groping. minors dni. taglist is closed. 3.1k. edited, slightly. if you see any mistakes look away.

NOTE. perhaps an azriel redemption? anyways let me know what you guys think about this chapter. i think this one isn’t my best one because i wrote this like two/three weeks ago. likes/reblogs/comments/akss about the series is appreciated. i love hearing everyone’s thoughts. we are halfway through <3

MASTERLIST

It had been months since your last encounter with Azriel. The thunder bellowing in your stomach was no longer an issue. The constant state of yearning had sunk to the point that you were drunk on nothing but sleepless nights. The mate bond was still there but it was practically non-existent with the way you both ignored it.

Alas, you had spent your time with the sleazy things the fae called humans. Taking in their lifestyle and the way they lived like it was their last day on earth. You had grown rather fond of this new found life but you knew it wasn’t for you.

You were a high fae. A creature born of magic and sin. A fae woman with royal blood with centuries of wisdom. You missed the nice dresses, the endless food, and the idea of Azriel using his spies to watch you. But all of that ceased the moment you stepped foot onto the mortal plains.

Another restless night, you hardly ever slept. Spending your early nights in taverns, dancing barefoot on the wood tables with men trying to inch their hands up your skirts or singing lazily near the piano man.

It was always easier to spend your time with drunkards. They didn’t care about your pointed elf-like ears. The way your purple eyes glowed in the moonlight didn’t bother them, it amazed them. They didn’t care that your hair was always so perfectly braided. Drunk people never asked questions. Drunk people always wondered when the next tin of ale was coming.

Women hated you. Barmaids especially, hated you. They loathed you and envied your beauty. You spoke with confidence, an air they couldn’t even breathe. But mostly admired the way you spoke to the men in the taverns as if they were hounds, sticking up for the women despite the jealousy they had for you.

Men—men loved you. Always thinking with their cocks rather than the head that’s screwed onto their necks. You were the wet dream they’d seek and they’d slowly try everything to get you. But you didn’t care for them nor did you care for the flirty things they’d say.

Like a freshly born deer you spent your early mornings in tall grass, trying to find comfort in the land. You had always lost track of time in the mortal world, the fraction of sleep you’ve been giving yourself would kill a human.

It was a wet morning, the air smelled of rain as you gathered yourself to find a place to keep yourself dry. All of this was by choice. You did this to escape the yearning you have felt sink so deeply in your heart. No one was keeping you from going back to the home that called back to you. Except one.

You had been gone for months but you still could see his face each time you closed your eyes. In corridors where the shadows nearly looked like him. Other men’s faces weren’t their own but his. Everything, everywhere, and everyone—Azriel haunted you and your thoughts.

The rain didn’t settle when you crossed the pathway up towards the top of the mountain. Your boots sliding as the ends of your skirts started to get wet. Thunder booms above you, lightning crackles down to strike anything in its path but you don't stop. Not when you felt like you were being watched.

You heard your name in the wind, causing the hairs at the end of your neck to stand rigid. You didn’t dare turn around, not prepared to face whatever being that had found you.

The wind whipped around you, causing you to catch a scent of who was watching you. Azriel. It was as if it was on purpose. Making sure you caught him through scent and not with any of your other senses.

“It’s time for you to come home.”

His voice was rough, a deep growl to it that held nothing but resentment for what had happened. But you weren’t the one to be blamed. You had every right to feel the way you had been feeling.

You ignore him, walking up the pathway as the rain pelts you. It was as if the fun had been sucked out of you. An even darker cloud appeared and that even darker cloud was Azriel, who was now trailing behind you angrily.

He says your name this time, a little louder, a little bit more angrier. Almost like a scolding parent. “I’m not asking you again. Come home. It’s time for you to stop running away from this.”

“To stop running away?” You scoff, walking up the pathway that had started to grow steep. Your boots sunk deep into the mud and there wasn’t much friction.

“From us and this impending doom of a duty.” He acknowledges the bond but only turns it into a sacrifice. Almost as if he is sacrificing something that he doesn’t want to let go.

“An impending doom? The only doom I see is you trying to convince me to come back home. Always thinking about yourself and never others.” You fume out in a yell over the rain and thunder. You pick up a rock and toss it over your shoulder. Not caring if it hit him.

Azriel watches the rock land next to him, he knows if you’d really want to aim at him, you’d do so. He follows you, careful not to get anywhere near you. He wasn’t sure what you’d do. “Fine. I shouldn’t call it an impending doom. I don’t want to sacrifice—“

“Sacrifice?” You scream, you turn around, your nose nearly skimming his chest. “What do you know of sacrifice?” You hiss, finally looking up at him.

You had finally caught a glimpse of him after months. But the way your heart ached and your chest moved with a deadly pace. You knew something about him had changed. With a shake of your head, you step away, practically sliding down the path. Anything to get away from him.

He yells for you. Your name is rolling out from his mouth like a vice. “Don’t do this. You’ve had your fun with the humans. Come back home.”

“Why?”

You walk through the mud, not caring that your skirts were now caked with mud. You didn’t care for the thunder or the way lightning struck the sky. You finally found an old beaten up stable in the middle of a field.

Azriel follows you, his boot stepping on the back of your skirts causing them to tear. “You want the truth?” He asks you, watching the wet fabric shred.

You hike up your skirts. Ripping the rest of the fabric off. Curse words flying out of your mouth as you frown at the way the dress now looked. Your fingers fiddled with the corset strings that held the rest of the dress up. Sending him an annoyed glare, trying to process what was going on. What was going to happen?

You had taken note of the way some of his hair had grown out to the way his eyes held some spark. Except his eyes still held nothing for you and if it did you’d never be able to tell.

“You can ignore me. I’m okay with that,” he starts to circle you, trying his best to keep his eyes from wandering off to gaze down at your body. You toss the corset onto the hay, the silky night slip was all you had on underneath the dress. “I’ve taken time to reflect on things,”

You wring out your hair, looking at him for a second before scoffing. He doesn’t acknowledge it, the shadows swirl around you both as he curls in his wings. “When we started the whole sleeping with each other act you promised you wouldn’t let your personal feelings invade you.”

“I can't just shut off my feelings like you.” You comment, jumping on a pile of hay, watching him.

“I enjoyed your feelings. You let me in so easily. You let me take from you in ways I would never do to another female,” he rubs his face. Trying to keep himself together. His composure was breaking and it was only a matter of time before one of you started to make it worse. “But this mate bond, this bond I-I didn’t ask for this. Not with you.”

“You’ve come here in hopes to reject this bond fully?” You look at him, watching the way he steps closer to you. The shadows whisper to you. Begging to hear him out.

Azriel sighs, he starts to bring his hand up towards your face but pulls away, afraid of what you might do. He couldn’t stand to see you flinch or cower at the thought of his hand. His filthy scarred hands touching someone like you. Someone he doesn’t deserve. “I’m afraid I haven’t been honest with you nor myself.”

You raise a brow. And suddenly the rain didn’t matter. The thunder didn’t bother you. The lightning was the least of your worries. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to compose yourself. The truth—the truth you had been looking for all along. “I will listen.” You murmur truthfully, your voice soft and quiet.

He stands before you, watching the way your boots dangle off of the stack of hay. Your white stockings were stained and the garters on your thighs made his throat dry. But he wasn’t here for that. No matter how hard it was for him to have his eyes focus on the way small light from inside the stable hit and framed your face. “You’ve known for a long time that it’s hard for me to express myself when it comes down to something I want. I wanted you centuries ago. I craved you in a way I knew was forbidden. You’re my high lord's baby sister. I was warned to never cross paths with you that involved laying you down,” he lets out a shaky breath, stepping closer to you. His hands at his side as he squeezes them into fists. He was so nervous for what was to come. “I’m a coward when it comes to expressing how I deeply feel for you. I’m a coward when it comes to just thinking about you. Even looking at you makes my mind goes to places it shouldn’t,”

You swallow, unclenching your jaw from having it subconsciously clenched. You took your hand in his, folding your fingers through his. He doesn’t step closer at the act, he licks his lips before sighing. “I don’t reject the bond but it’s not something I wish for you to agree upon. I feel as though I am not good enough to give you my devoted love eternally. I bury what I feel for you because I am not worthy.”

Your hand drops from his, trying to grasp his words slowly. Going over each sentence and syllable. “You don’t want me to accept it?”

He listens to your voice and how it quivers. Gods, does he wish he could have said it differently? In a way that could have been less torturous. He whispers your name, cupping your face and bringing his forehead against your own. His left hand trails down your cheek as it rubs your neck. “I am not good enough to give my love to someone like you. I’m a bastard Illyrian and you’re of high blood.” He whispers against your skin, trying to get you to listen.

Your lips ghost over his, the hot tears falling from your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” You whisper, digging your fingers into his arms.

He closes his eyes. Ready to take the lashing he was about to receive. “It’s the truth. I will only humiliate you. I am not worthy. I am a coward, who cannot express myself. I am low born with wounds from my past.”

“Stop! Using your status as an excuse!” You whisper trying to keep your voice low but you are far from quiet. You look up at him, grabbing his chin. Not caring about your nails digging into his flesh. “You are a Shadowsinger. A Spymaster. You are a part of my brother's inner circle because you are meant to be there. Do not use your low born status as an excuse to dismiss the way you openly admitted your feelings for me with such cowardance.”

Azriel droops his head into your neck. His hands falling at your sides as he stands there. The shadows start to whisper and dance around you both, trying to spill Azriel's real feelings to you since he was approaching it in a different manner. “Why are you ashamed?”

He hurries his nose deeper into your neck, nearly suffocating himself with your scent. “I’m not ashamed.”

You scoff, looking down at him. Your heart pounded into your chest, your hands rested above the belt of his pants. “Then why come?”

He holds his breath. It was hard to confess. “I have fought these tormented months trying to come up with ways to forgive myself and my actions. I have been in agony,” he murmurs, finally stepping away from you. “I don’t know how to say this without feeling as if I should have said it sooner.”

You furrow your brows, trying to decode his sentence. The rain was merely an echo in the small world you call your own. “Said what?”

Azriel looks at you wholly. Not half heartedly. Not a glance. But wholly, with the intent of staring so deeply into your soul that you could feel the mate bond between you both ripple that the thunder booming above didn’t matter. “I love you,” he says it like a man with honor. A man that has overcome flames of torment and is seeking validation from the one woman he loves. You. He loves you. “I have and I am a coward for shoving it down. For letting it turn into this.”

You kick yourself off of the hay stack, looking at him once and then once more before shaking your head. “You used other women to distract yourself from the idea. No. The thought of loving me.”

You ignore him calling for your name. The rain hits your skin in a deadly chill. You do your best to keep walking, the tears mixing in with the rain. He grabs you by the arm, spinning you around.

“Tell me how pathetic I am. I have been,” he whispers, cupping your face. You meet his eyes, water falling from his hair and onto your skin. “Tell me.” He pleads, trying the best he can to stop himself from shaking you.

You close your eyes, enjoying the rain pelting down into your skin. “But you want me to reject the bond?”

He groans, pressing his body against yours. Backing you into the nearest tree. The bark pressed into your back with a welcomeness. “You don’t know what I want.” He hisses, fixing the hair that stuck to your skin.

“You don’t. You don’t know what you want,” you murmur, letting his hands meet your hips. He pushes your body closer to his, his hands fisting the silk fabric of your slip. “You either want me to love you or reject you. Pick one, Azriel. Pick one so we can be done with this game.” You whisper into his ear.

He uses his chin to tilt your head up just a tad to make sure your face is aligned with his. “Shut up and just kiss me, damn it.”

His lips hover of yours with resistance. Making sure you made the first move so he wouldn’t get shoved off. “And why should I?” You mumble, your hands going up his wet button down, making sure to wrap around his neck. If you wanted to choke him you would have done so already.

“A bargain. We can make a bargain.” He murmurs, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, squeezing the flesh.

“I’m not making a bargain with you. You know my bargains come with a price.” You swallow, looking at him. Your hands cup his face, “No.”

“But yes. A bargain and a kiss. From now on I work to win your love over. I will make sure you choose me and our bond. I need to show you how sorry I am for doing this to you,” he desperately says in one single breath. Pressing your into the tree even more, one of his hands wrapping around your thigh before hiking it up. “A kiss and a bargain.” He says this time with a push, almost as if he was out of breath.

His scarred fingers trace over your face. Trying to convince you. He whispers your name. This time it was different. It held meaning. A warmth you’ve never experienced before. You don’t bother to wait another second. Pressing your lips against his in such haste you started to grow dizzy.

Your lips chase him in a heated kiss, his hands traveling and squeezing all parts of your body as he sticks his knee in between your knees. He presses it against you, bringing it up as he forces you to sit on his flexed thigh. A soft groan fills his mouth, your body enjoying the lost sensation you desperately craved.

Before it could get any more passionate and lead to things you’d regret. You pulled away, gasping for the very little air you needed. You stay put on his thigh, your fingers sliding back down his chest as you try your damned best to go over what the fuck just happened.

“It’s a bargain.” Your voice snaps you out of your own daze.

The light sensation of the markings being etched into your skin doesn’t startle you the way it startles Azriel. Dark black swirls traveled up and around your fingers and onto your hands. The swirls stopped and they continued onto Azriel's skin. Gently gliding and swirling around his arm and up before disappearing.

“I know the consequences of breaking the bargain.” He reassured you, his fingers tracing over your lips before he kissed you again.

You turn your head to the side, awkwardly breaking the second kiss you oh so, desperately craved. “I don’t want you to think we’re bargaining for love.” You murmur under your breath.

Azriel takes a single finger and moves your face back to meet his. His lips were nearly swollen for the kiss shared between you and him earlier but that wasn’t the only thing that mattered. Everything mattered now. “It’s what I want. I want to bargain for my life or for love. Your love. I want to undo my mistakes.”

You look up at him, meeting his gaze that had softly started to soften. “I’m not going to take you back so easily.”

He hums, finally letting you stand. He smoothes out your slip, making sure to keep his eyes on yours. He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Good. I deserve it.” He murmurs against your skin before winnowing away.

[wrenisrad]

Reblogging this again because he's too scrumptious for my own good

Lord of Foxes

[wrenisrad]

experiencing romantic jealousy over a fictional character has gotta be one of the most painful, humiliating feelings ever. esp when they’re commonly shipped with someone else or in a canon pairing. the pain in your stomach nd the way your heart hurts. sometimes you feel like you could actually cry. like actual dread 💔

and then the wave of anxiety & shame hits because you know damn well it's not normal. but because you're so ashamed you feel like you have no one to talk abt it with. i genuinely wonder if i'm normal or well sometimes

[wrenisrad]

Sha'arnez

[wrenisrad]

[wrenisrad]

“And all along I believed that I would find you.”

The mating bond is a sacred concept in this world—a bridge that exists between souls. Both Azriel and Gwyn have been dealt cards that have laid the foundation for their journey and I am so very excited to see that journey unfold, both individually and together. I think it will be so very special once their bond officially snaps and they realize just how worthy they truly are and that acceptance comes from within. Love is idle, but true.

Enjoy Azriel and Gwyn’s mating ceremony!

ART CREDIT luciaarandart

COMMISSIONED BY @oristian

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST

@gwynrielweeksofficial

[wrenisrad]

as a palestinian with family in gaza, i cannot overstate the emotional and physical toll this genocide continues to take—on those of us watching from afar, and most harrowingly, on those enduring its every waking moment. it is not a “conflict,” and it is certainly not a “war” between equals. it is a calculated, systematic campaign of ethnic cleansing, of dehumanization, and of relentless brutality against an entire population stripped of safety, dignity, and the most basic human rights.

what is happening is not a war. it is not a conflict. it is not a “complicated situation.” it is a genocide.

over 56,000 palestinians have been murdered—murdered—with tens of thousands more missing, wounded, or permanently displaced. entire generations have been wiped out. over 75% of gaza has been reduced to rubble. families are living in tents next to the graves of their children, if they are lucky enough to have found their bodies at all. hospitals have been bombed, schools flattened, refugee camps incinerated. people are being starved, buried alive, and suffocated by the world’s indifference.

and if you do not see that—if you still believe both sides are “equally at fault,” or that this is some kind of tragic back-and-forth—you need to unfollow me. genuinely, unfollow me.

because if you think the slaughter of a colonized, imprisoned population by one of the most powerful militaries on earth is just “politics,” we are not standing on the same moral ground. and i have no interest in softening my words for your comfort.

i speak not from headlines, but from lived experience. three of our close family members were trapped in gaza. to evacuate even one person costs $8,000 minimum. my uncles and aunts scraped together $36,000 to get my aunt and her three children out. and even then, we were among the very, very few. we were blessed—and it feels grotesque to even use that word—to come from a family that could afford it. and even then, it was not easy. even then, it came with fear, uncertainty, and heartbreak.

but not everyone has that option.

most palestinians do not have $36,000 to save their loved ones. most do not have relatives outside of gaza to help them. not everyone has relatives abroad. not everyone has the financial capacity to gather tens of thousands of dollars in time. and what happens then? people—families—are left behind. they are forced to stay, not because they want to, but because they are economically trapped in a death zone. mothers are having to watch their children burn alive. sons are digging their parents out of rubble with their bare hands. people are dying not only because of bombs, but because the world has placed a price tag on their right to live.

donations are not optional. they are life-saving. they are sometimes the only thing standing between someone’s child and their grave. i beg you—if you can give, give. if you can speak, speak. and if you cannot find the moral clarity to call this what it is—a genocide—then please, for your sake and mine, leave my page.

to the creators and voices who have spoken out clearly, who name what is happening for what it is: thank you. thank you for your courage, your humanity, your refusal to look away. your words matter. your solidarity matters. and to my fellow palestinians—those grieving, those angry, those exhausted—you are not alone. your pain is valid. your fight is just. and i pray with all that’s left in me for the day we see liberation.

free palestine, always.

[wrenisrad]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 25

Azriel x third-oldest-archeron-sibling!reader

warnings: grief, mentions of past death, Wanting To Die

word count: 4,210

-Part 24-

~~~~

One side of your body is warm. 

Heat pushing up into your stomach, circulating around your thighs, rising through your chest and blooming into one tingling cheek. 

Sticky sleep glues your eyes shut and there’s nothing that could tempt you to break the seal and return. Nothing worth the inconvenience of cracking them open. Not with the way your heart sinks the second it dawns on you that you’re here again. That there will be hours ahead of you before you can rest again, and be blessedly released from the pain turning your heart to an open wound. 

Even the chill that’s resting on your back, seeping into the underside of your arms—it’s not worth pulling your flesh back together. Muscles are soft and sodden, formless as you float elsewhere. 

A weight you can’t place has been lifted from your back, but instead of feeling free and featherlight it seems to have clamped its teeth around your nape, cramping the tendon that stretches across your shoulders and partway down your spine; stiffened.

If only the blade had been true. 

His heart beats beneath your ear, a low pulse pushing against the bone of your cheek, blood rushing in pace with his. The realisation shifts your breaths, lungs expanding once before pushing air out that will not be allowed to penetrate so deep until the following night. Light breaths are for peace—they have no place once dawn has passed. 

He lied. 

His arms lie dispassionately at his sides, no reason to hold you together after offering to unify the fractures.

When his kindest touches have been the product of duty… 

You should have forgotten how to swim, when you were pushed into the cauldron. 

His arms stir at his side, pressure shifting beneath your cheek as a muscle tightens, hand lifting from his side to pull hair from your eyes. “Are you ready?” 

Guilt is distant, and shame is unfamiliar, so you press further into the warmth, consciously considering the scent that wraps around your mind like thick, poisoning smoke. Fatigue given form, but luscious and soft, with a pillowy structure that cushions your heavy skull. 

His fingers graze the peak of your ear and your hairs stretch upward, rising as the touch fades but its ghost remains, skin tingling and sensitive in his wake. Pulse quickening. 

Staying here forever would be preferable to what’s awaiting you…

—what is it again? 

Memories are foggy and vague, but your body remembers. An ache that’s stretched open across your chest; a contraction in your heart. Something remembers, and its whispering for you to freeze. Stop, so there will not be more of this, it tells you, but the warning falls on forgetful ears.

Eyes crack open, and the window-filled alcove the far side of the room reveals pale-grey skies, the glass filled with off-white. The grey glow shines on the polished wooden floorboards, curving around table-tops and chair-legs, gleaming on porcelain.

As if sensing your gaze, narrow threads of darkness unspool themselves from a dense coil, looping through a shining ceramic handle, tipping a dark-coloured liquid into a pale teacup, vapour steaming like twinkling dust in the daylight. The darkness reaches for a sugar-cube and your brows lower, eyes blinking slowly. They retreat. 

Azriel’s palm cups the round curve of your shoulder, thumb sliding into the divot a little below your clavicle, fingers splaying across the top of your right scapula. 

“How are you feeling?” 

The ache in your chest throbs, breath catching. You don’t need to know the cause to recognise the pain—sadness weighing from your ribs. Do you want to remember why? Do you want to know the cause? Your eyes once more trace over the porcelain: pale teacups with floral prints around their circumference, their delicate matching plates ringed in gold and gleaming and—

Gold. 

Your body tightens, pressure doubling in your throat. Hurt warps and twists like a dying spider, lungs spasming as your arms try to draw tight around his waist, blocked by the cushions beneath his back. The world blurs, and you remember it. 

Sobs build, swift and merciless. Pulses of pain pounding through your breast, each second processed sending fresh bruises to batter your heart. 

He’s gone. 

Irreplaceably gone. 

Tears bleed from your eyes, stinging and sore, darkening the fabric beneath you, sinuses burning with every droplet that pushes its way free, hot and salty. 

You were barely hanging on before. 

Your heart shudders, throat squeezing as if to spit something out. 

Is it childish, to feel slighted? 

The candles he had burned had smelled clean and warm—always fragranced with herbal scents like thyme or rosemary. 

Rosemary. 

Rosemary and freshly tilled earth. Leonine eyes so piercing, and fierce. A smile at once mischievous and loving. Bare palms that had rasped against your skin, coarse hair that had scratched your sternum, firm warmth that had wrapped itself around you on so many nights. Strong arms braced and ready whenever high-pointed heels slipped on rain-soaked cobbles; piping hot food messily slurped and cutlery mixed up through all the picking and stealing from the other’s plate; grasping hands and the comfort that came from his mouth and mind.

The safety of his presence.

The freedom to become so delicate in his arms.

Azriel will never give you that. 

The thought flourishes as stray thoughts tend to, coming into creation without cause. 

Azriel will never make you laugh the way you want him to. He will never remove your clothes and kiss your skin. Will never lay his brow across your sternum and murmur. 

…the emptiness that's riddled you—hollowed you out over the course of these past years…you’ll never know if he would have remedied that ache. The wound that’s found its home in your heart… It’s too tender to accommodate anything else, and too central to risk a replacement. 

Bas was Bas. 

You’ll never experience him again.

————

Her body trembles as though it’s her first day alive. 

Tears flooded from her eyes the moment she woke, and something cold and cruel had twisted inside of him. Does she understand how luxurious her grief is? 

She cries so freely.

Can he manage her, right now? 

Her fingers clutch at his sides, full of bones and sorrow, and he fleetingly wonders if he should have pushed the blade in? Having tangled with grief and rage and glacial, roaring winds for so long, has she gone too far?

From a look alone, it’s clear she would fail to get up on her own. 

Ignoring the betrayal it would have been—should he have done it? Wouldn’t it have been kinder to put her down? 

As soon as the thought forms itself, Azriel is resolved in his decision. 

Yes. It would have been kinder. 

He’s not the kind to enjoy her suffering, but neither is he the kind to help.

————

“No one would blame you if you chose to stay with your sisters.” Azriel speaks.

Your heart pulses, an ache thrumming through your breast.

His hand squeezes your shoulder. “They’d want to be with you, if they knew.” 

It’s unfair how soothed your body becomes beneath the mild dosage of his voice. Not deep exactly, but like refined grains. Soft brown sugar, sticky and syrupy. 

Your heart pulses again, and another tear squeezes out. “Don’t pretend like you understand,” you whisper, wishing you weren’t so feeble. 

Fresh aches rise and fall one after the other, pulsing like crescendos through your chest. Pushing tears from your eyes in time with the rhythm.

You’re flayed pink. Peeled back and poked at. 

There’s something raw in your chest that’s burrowing deeper than anything previous—a want that’s only been growing the more it was denied. Fingers wrapping around a dungeon cell in the damp underground. Fingers that should have had the fight sapped out of them. Fingers that can still crave touch and warmth and comfort.

But if you open any further, your stomach threatens to spit out your heart. 

The silence draws on, save for the muffled thump beating through his chest. Seconds stretch into blended time, and a minute becomes immeasurable. 

His thumb shifts. 

“Mira listened to things I could never tell my brothers.” Azriel murmurs. His voice is like a gauze pad placed over wounds. Powdered, bandaged, and hidden under clothes to disguise the tender, open flesh. 

Thuh-thump. 

He shifts, leaning back into the support of the lengthy sofa. 

“I was near your age when I spoke with her the first time. We all lived together so it wasn’t difficult to find her, though the hut felt at times cramped for the five of us.” He releases a breath, your head sinking as the air leaves his lungs. “She wasn’t much older than us.”

There’s something he might be trying to say, but there’s no interest in reading between his lines. So long has been wasted on trying to gauge his intentions, and you’ve been wrong so many times. 

Azriel’s thumb twitches. “You’ve grown close with Madja,” he says, remaining still on the sofa. “She works privately, and lives west of the Sidra, between the temple and the clock tower. Go to her if you need.” 

“Why would I need to?” You mumble, eyes wanting to close. “I thought you said I could speak with you.” A beat passes, and you shift your head, ear rightfully returning to measure the beat of his heart, fingers clutching the shirt fabric at his sides. “Are you going back on that?” 

There’s nothing assuring you he won’t turn to dust beneath your touch. 

Not that your touch could prevent him from disintegrating, if that was his path. 

Nails cut into the fabric anyway. 

“You can speak whenever you like. But Madja might provide better care than I can.” 

“Better?” You question from somewhere far off.

“She might understand you in a way I cannot.” 

A flicker of gold in your chest. Hurt sparking into malice. You shift, bruises blossoming from beneath your skin, aches blooming as you lift from his chest. “Five hundred years and you’ve never thought you should die?” Your voice quietens, throat raw and pained. “That you might deserve to die?”

“I’m not saying Madja has that experience,” Azriel diverts, unaffected. “But I think you enjoy her company, and she enjoys yours.” Which I don’t.

“Why did you use me to find out about her?” The question rises. The question you can never understand. The question you keep circling back to.

“Because I was so desperate to help?” You ask. “Because I was so conveniently placed?”

You stare at him, a cavern opening up in your chest that’s usually swiftly flooded with tears, but you’re all out this morning. 

Why did you hurt me? 

Why did you damage me? 

Why wasn’t I worth any care?

Bas.

Grief finds you once again, and the urge to crumble sweeps through your body like a coastal wind whipping through a wreckage. You manage to support yourself, if only to keep from collapsing back on top of him. Your head falls, and your brows bunch as agony clenches your throat. The sobs rise like tidal waves, pain pulsing like a fog wrapping around your mind. Dizzying and disorientating. 

With a heavy breath you shift yourself to one side of the sofa, pushing off across the floor, dragging your rock-filled body to the alcove on the far side of the room. The floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a thick grey sky, and a dark forest to the east.

You take the seat facing the west. 

Minuscule droplets have gathered around the base of the window pane, the heat wards in need of a touch-up, but you don’t care. Heat would only encourage your lethargy, the slight bite that’s nipping through the cotton of your socks keeping you awake and present. Leather rustles, then feet touch the floor, whispering across the rug before the space of the seat opposite you is swallowed, shadows swirling like mist beneath the circular table. “Tea?” 

Azriel waits three, long beats before leaning forward, lifting the teapot from the table to top up the steaming liquid in the mug. 

Looking out into the world, across the grey sky and the silently billowing grassland…the landscape adopts a painting-like distance. The wood of the windowsill framing the view as a drawing, becoming somehow still and imitative of a three-dimensional world. Greasy oil pastels of gusting wind blowing through the light, feathering grass, almost chalky in its weightless freedom. 

Form seems far-off and foreign. Objects blurring together, their seams disintegrating until it’s one body of landscape; a great, roiling ocean before the untrained eye. 

Now you’re here once more, and the temporary distraction of conversation has circled the drain and slipped away…

“What would you like for breakfast?” 

You’re practically on separate landmasses. Opposite sides of a globe. Golden and rotating. 

Pain cripples your shoulders from within, that splashing droplet of molten gold at once taking on the shape of a mechanical solar system now blasted to bits, and the lifeless sheen of fierce irises that in the past had burned with more life and ferocity than the sun himself. 

You force your eyes to see, to peer outwards even as you’re being sucked inward.

“I’m not hungry.” You can’t stomach the thought of food.

He waits a pause—in no hurry to convince you. It’s not as though he’s ever had to exert any kind of effort to get you to believe his words, or heel to a command. 

You’ve always been lumbering and stupid around him, so he’s no need to seek to convince you to eat.

“You need to eat something,” Azriel tries. 

He sounds gentle, but… You’d once thought there was a possibility you might be tied to him. That you were lucky enough to be good enough for him. 

You teeter on the ledge of that thought. Weave golden string between skeletal fingers. 

If only. 

If only… 

A new wave breaks against your back, and your head is shoved beneath the water. There’s no sense of nausea; just a knowledge to depart from the table and head for the washroom. 

Burning liquid streams from your throat, legs shaken and weak as mud.

Dew drops gather along your hairline, perspiration collecting on your temples as a foul flavour stains your mouth. 

The solidity of the wall finds your back, and the beams are impossibly flat. A figure is filling the doorway, allowing the outside to enter, and fatigue crumbles your skull, head falling to your hands, arms wrapped around your knees. How timeless it’s become.

You need sleep. 

But sleep is so far off. 

Tears prickle at the darkness behind closed lids, head flushed with heat as aches blossom behind your eyes. It’s all so pointless. 

Why continue to drag yourself through this swamp? You surrendered so long ago.

That feel collects around your bones again. Goading your skin to become weightless. Tiresome flesh giving way to allow something purer to lift to the surface. Something aching to escape. Something aching to travel further. 

You don’t belong here. 

Haven’t for a while. 

The black surrounds you, shadow threading around your limbs. Weaving between ankles, looping over shoulders; brushing up against your nape. 

You fall further, collapsing into the void. 

Deeper; deeper. 

Spiralling further. Further. 

Is it time for you to go, yet? 

————

Azriel remains still, keeping to his side of the threshold. 

They should be leaving by now, preparing to return to Velaris, but even at a glance anyone could tell she isn’t fit for Summer.

She might kilter herself off a cliff the first chance she gets, and he can’t manage travelling through the dense forestry, navigating the woodland’s inhabitants, while forcefully sustaining a life.

He’ll drop her off once they return home. 

She’ll be too worn out to protest and recognise it’s much better for her to be with her sisters than with him—they’re capable of care.

Though she won’t react well to finding out she’s been left behind. 

Azriel studies her, quivering on the floor, hunched into a ball.

If she were better, then…

There’s no point in entertaining it.  

Her shoulders tremble, and he can guess her body will be starving by now. After having expelled so much magic, so much grief, and regurgitated whatever fluid was left in her stomach, she must be beyond ravenous. 

And yet she’s sitting on the floor, dried flecks of saliva chapping her lips and chin, and making no move to recover. 

Azriel glances to the table on the far side of the room, then back.

Slowly, he allows his shadows to unspool, gliding in swirls across the wooden floor to wrap themselves around her figure. If he can lift her from the floor, he can at least clean her up. 

Dignity is precious, in this world.

————

Azriel wets the cloth in the ceramic teacup he filled with water after having set her atop the sofa, finding the damp corner and swiping carefully against the crease of her mouth. He can smell her stomach from here—tangy; acidic—but it’s a mild discomfort. 

Tears well in her eyes, dripping down still features. That distinctly-mournful vacancy unyielding even as salty water rolls down her cheeks, collecting beneath her jaw. 

Azriel takes a section of the cloth and dries the wetness. Tracing the pathways from her lashes to the curve of her jaw. Then he returns to cleansing her lips; the stained skin around her mouth. Her nose runs, but he dries that too.

There’s a cloth bag in one of the bathroom cabinets, small enough to fit in his palm, and takes one of the teeth chalks. He changes the water in the teacup. He walks back to the sofa she’s sat on, shadows still mopping up her tears. 

Azriel offers the chalk.

It takes her a few moments, but she lifts her hand, collecting the tablet and putting it in her mouth. It crunches beneath her teeth, minty tar cleansing as the chalky texture mixes with saliva, forming a paste. 

He offers the teacup, and she takes it from his hand, taking in a drink of water to swish away the paste. He doesn’t have to tell her to spit, but something inside him twinges when she raises her hand to cover her mouth, so he won’t see. 

He’s never forgotten she’s only twenty-two, but that small gesture of dignity is a grim reminder of how small a fraction she is of himself.

————

The flight back is quiet, for the most part. 

There’s a silent spiral in her eyes, one that grows louder the deeper one looks—which he doesn’t.  

She’s pressing into him more than she has in the past—at times it’s felt like she was trying to tip herself out of his arms.

He readjusts his hold on her. 

The tears have stopped, but she’s far too still. A silence the product of hollow absence.

Maybe she feels a fraction of his attention, because her head lowers, face turned toward his chest. Her eyes have shut to protect against the chill of the upper skies, and her brow rests against the junction of his neck and shoulder. 

Thinking on her lethargy, her nature has always been seemingly subdued. Even before he turned away from her. She would smile, but it was slow and measured. Even a full smile would be directed elsewhere, peering at the floor with a wide grin and round cheeks.

She and her older sister have that smile in common. 

Elain will likely have set off with Lucien to begin searching through Spring by now. 

————

Tha-thump. Tha-thump. 

Tha-thump. Tha-thump.

The rushing of the air is tuned out, the leathery beat of his wings fading to quiet. Only the thump of his heart remains, reverberating through your skull.

So strange. 

A heartbeat has always been indicative of truth. Something that would never lie. And as the dust settles from these past months, you crave it.

Crave it in the way that’s only possible for something you can’t have.

————

When the familiar landscape surrounding Velaris comes into view, Azriel considers. Is it worth informing her of his decision?

She shifts in his arms, looking outward as she recognises the landscape. Her ankles cross, huddling herself a small bit closer. “We’re leaving today?” 

Azriel glances to her but she’s vacantly watching the running lands below. 

“You should rest a while,” Azriel replies. “Leave time for Madja to give an assessment.” 

“I’ve done nothing but rest.” 

Azriel almost misses it, words being snatched away by the wind as he begins the descent. He says nothing. 

She’s quiet for a long time, long enough he returns his attention to the circling descent. 

“You’re going by yourself.” Aren’t you?, She murmurs.

She’s returned to her huddle, staring into her lap. “Do you think it’s your fault?” She whispers. 

————

You’re not ready to move. You need to be reclined on a sofa in the late afternoon, lazy heat pouring in through the windows and a frilled cushion beneath your head. A state of permanent inebriation. 

You need rest. 

Endless rest. 

And yet, “I want to see Summer.” You hum, growing quiet. “…I want to see Summer.” 

Somehow tears can still prickle at your eyes.

You aren’t ready to face the oncoming winter. 

Winter holds too much grief. Every snowflake will be a reminder of him, every fractured puddle a shard worth sliding beneath your skin.

The shame will cripple you. 

You should have paid attention. 

The frozen stump of his arm passes through your mind—the prolonged pain he endured, with no capability to end himself. 

“Take me with you,” you mumble, half to yourself. Hating your dependence. All you can do is ask, and plead, and hope he’ll find you pitiful enough to oblige. 

He’s no other motive to listen.

Not for you. 

“It would be irresponsible.” Azriel says.  

“Why?” 

“You know why.” He replies. A muscle tightens in your jaw, teeth gritting together. “Why is now the time you choose to be responsible for me.” 

Just come out and say it, Azriel. Say you don’t want me there. Say you want to be relieved of me. To leave and return and find me gone. 

He’s silent for more than a considering pause, allowing you to continue. 

You peer up at him, gazing intently at the jugular vein in his throat. “Maybe I’ll die off in Summer,” you whisper, verging on a hiss, “then I’ll be out of your hair.”

He shifts you in his arms, “I don’t want you to die.” 

Liar. 

“I’m not lying.” 

“How can you not?” How could you not want me dead? How can you not lie?

It’s all you’ve ever done.

Your question had been backed with malice, but as the thought repeats the viciousness bleeds dry, dissipating into desperation. Spiralling despair. Your lower lip crumbles, and you look to the ground so far below, watching it whiz by. Hot tears soothe the dry itch of your eyes. 

Is it even Azriel at the centre of your problems anymore?

Thinking of him brings pain to your heart, but it’s spread so much further now. A swift consumption, starting with a seed and swiftly splitting. You’d need to purge your mind as a whole to be rid of it.

Dash the matter on the rocks, so your skull is blessedly mindless. 

————

Nesta greets you in the hallway.

You can’t bear the sight of her.

“What happened?” 

Her words aren’t inquisitive, nor curious. They’re stern and soft.. Solemn and angry, with no target to yet fire upon. 

You’d kept your head lowered, gaze trained on the floor as you’d slid out of your boots and climbed the stairs that lead to your room. The prickling sense of her frozen ire had been searing as you’d passed, and humiliation burns from within knowing it was directed at the male left behind in the front hall.

How pitiful that Nesta still intervenes like this, even after everything.

Floorboards creak beneath your feet, and you practically fall into your room, the door giving way and clicking shut at your back, legs shaking and so, so weak you hardly reach the bed. 

Bones hit the floor, pain stroking your knees as you lay stiff on the ground, curled in a spiral, staring at the grain in the floorboards. 

Silence reigns, still and soft within your room. 

It’s oppressive; overwhelming. 

There’s a disconnect inside. A distance between your mind and body. 

Why is it never-ending?

The heels of your palms press against closed eyes, sealing away the light to provide the reprieve of darkness. Sweet, plain blank, surrounding you entirely. 

It seeps backward into your skull, rooting through your mind and cleansing the interior. The gentle pressure of the base of your thumbs pressing to the hollow beneath your brows, either side the bridge of your nose. 

If you could prevent adoration from having ever left your mouth, from having filled your eyes with every glance…

( if I

If I could leave you behind )

~

Is it that you love him, or that he knows? 

~

why suggest going together?

~

(us.)

~

~

How long has it been?

~~~~~~~~

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